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October 16, 189 6 


Number 16 


WONDER-BOOK 


FOR GIRLS AND BOYS 


NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 


SELECTED STORIES FOR USE IN SCHOOLS 
WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND EXPLANATORY NOTES 


UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY 


NEW YORK: 43-47 E. Tenth Street 

BOSTON: 352 Washington Street 

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Published semi-monthly, except July ind August. Entered m tceond-clnss mutter nt the Poet Office *t Kew lork, S. Y., Dee. S8, UW 




The Standard Text-Books on Geography 

Maury’s New Elementary Geography. 

Maury’s Revised Manual of Geog-raphy. 

Maury’s New Physical Geography. 

These books were not compiled from encyclopedias, but are 
♦he live work of America's greatest scientist, Matthew F. 
Maury, LL.D., a distinguished officer in the Navy; first 
Superintendent of the United States Observatory ; discoverer 
of the North Atlantic Plateau ; and author of the Physical 
Geography of the Sea. The books are watchfully kept in har- 
mony with all geographical changes. 


The Latest Text-Books on Arithmetic 

Venable’s New Elementary Arithmetic. 
Venable’s New Practical Arithmetic. 

These books, only recently published, embody all that is 
best in modern methods. Their characteristic is their teaching 
power.- An able educator writes of them : 

“ The singular teaching power of the examples as displayed 
in- the skillful grading of each group not only into * oral ’ and 
‘ written,' but in the groups within the groups, each subordinate 
group serving as a sort of drill table for clearing and fixing 
some phase of the thinking and work, — it is just in this all 
important point, skillful teaching by exampUSy — ^that the books 
seem to me to excel.” 


UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY, 


NEW YORK and NEW ORLEANS. 


STANDARD LITERATURE SERIES 


A WONDER-BOOK 


FOR GIRLS AND BOYS 


BY / 

NATHANIEL ^AWTHORNE 


SELECTED STORIES FOR USE IN SCHOOLS 
WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND EXPLANATORY NOTES 



NEW YORK AND NEW ORLEANS 
UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY 
1896 



Copyright, 1896, by 

UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY 


1811 


Press of J, J, Little & Co, 
Astor Place, New York 


INTRODUCTION. 


Nathaniel Hawthorne was born at Salem, Mass., July 4, 1804. He 
was but four years old when his father died, leaving his mother in strait- 
ened circumstances, with the boy and two sisters. In his ninth year 
Nathaniel met with an accident that caused lameness, and confined him 
to his home until his thirteenth year. During this time he acquired a 
great love of reading. When he was fourteen the family removed to Ray- 
mond, Me. Here, in the quietness of rural life, he became fond of soli- 
tude. He received his college education at Bowdoin, where he graduated 
in 1825, Longfellow being a classmate. During his college career he 
gave indications of a taste and talent for literary work, having begun his 
first novel while an undergraduate. 

The conditions existing in the United States at that time were un- 
favorable to native writers, so Hawthorne was obliged to wait many years, 
toiling hard in the meantime, before he won popular recognition as an 
author. After his return to Salem he shut himself up for twelve years 
in seclusion, writing tales and verses. Few of the latter are now much 
known. His first novel, “Fanshawe,” published in 1828, was unsuccess- 
ful. He contributed to various annuals and magazines under different 
names. In 1836 he wrote “ Peter Parley’s Universal History,” a venture 
very profitable for the publisher, but not for Hawthorne, who received 
only one hundred dollars for his work. 

During this period of seclusion Hawthorne also wrote a series of 
sketches and stories, which appeared from time to time in newspapers 
and magazines. As they were favorably received and noticed, a collec- 
tion of them was republished in 1837 under the title, “ Twice-Told Tales.” 
Longfellow reviewed the book and gave it high praise. This recognition 
was the beginning of Hawthorne’s fame. His earnings by his pen were 
not yety however, sufficient for his support; and in January, 1839, the 
historian Bancroft, then collector of the port of Boston, appointed him 
weigher and gauger in the custom-house, an office which he held until 1841. 

Authors generally have adult readers in mind when they write, .but 
Hawthorne did not forget the children. “Grandfather’s Chair,” “ Fa- 
mous Old People,” and “Liberty Tree” (published in 1841), ^“^Bio- 


4 


INTRODUCTION. 


graphical Stories ” (1842), and “ The Wonder Book” (1851), were written 
for the young. 

In July, 1842, Hawthorne married Miss Peabody, of Salem, who was 
to him “a blessing and illumination wherever she went.” Removing to 
Concord, Mass., he lived for four years in the old colonial manse pre- 
viously occupied by Ralph Waldo Emerson, and overlooking the field of the 
first battle of the Revolution. Here he dwelt happily but in comparative 
seclusion, and wrote “ Mosses from an Old Manse ” (1846). This year he 
was appointed surveyor in the custom-house in his native town, Salem, 
where he remained four years. 

In 1850 Hawthorne’s greatest work, ‘‘The Scarlet Letter,” was pub- 
lished. He now resided at Lenox, Mass., where he wrote “ The House of 
the Seven Gables” (1851), and prepared “The Snow Image,” which did 
not appear until the following year. In the winter he wrote at West 
Newton “The Blithedale Romance.” He changed his residence to Con- 
cord in 1852, and his next work was the “ Tangle wood Tales,” a continua- 
tion of “ The Wonder Book.” 

Hawthorne went to England in 1853, having been appointed by Presi- 
dent Pierce to the office of consul at Liverpool, which he held till 1857. 
He travelled through Great Britain and the Continent, gathering mate- 
rials for new work, and publishing “The Marble Faun” in 1860. In 
J line of this year he returned to Concord, broken in health. A number 
of brilliant sketches on England and the English, written by him, were 
soon issued in the Atlantic Monthly. These were afterwards republished 
under the title, “Our Old Home” (1863). He died May 18, 1864, at 
Plymouth, N. H., where he had gone for the benefit of his health, with his 
old friend, ex-President Pierce. He was buried at Concord, Mass., in a 
spot near the grave of Emerson. 

In personal appearance Hawthorne was tall and commanding. He 
was a fine specimen of physical manhood, yet his manner showed the 
gentleness of woman. 

In his style he was free from constraint or affectation. Clearness of 
expression is one of his characteristics. This makes his work especially 
adapted to children. His fame was of slow growth, but it has rapidly 
increased since his death. Several of his works have been translated 
into foreign languages. He is now generally regarded as one of the 
greatest imaginative minds of the century, holding high rank among 
English prose writers. 


PREFACE. 


The author has long been of opinion that many 
of the classical myths were capable of being ren- 
dered into very capital reading for children. In the 
little volume here offered to the public he has 
worked up half a dozen of them with this end in 
view. A great freedom of treatment was necessary 
to his plan ; but it will be observed by every one 
who attempts to render these legends malleable in 
his intellectual furnace, that they are marvellously 
independent of all temporary modes and circum- 
stances. They remain essentially the same, after 
changes that would affect the identity of almost 
anything else. 

He does not, therefore, plead guilty to a sacrilege 
in having sometimes shaped anew, as his fancy dic- 
tated, the forms that have been hallowed by an 
antiquity of two or three thousand years. No 
epoch of time can claim a copyright in these im- 
mortal fables. They seem never to have been 
made ; and certainly, so long as man exists, they 
can never perish ; but, by their indestructibility 
itself, they are legitimate subjects for every age 


6 


PREFACE. 


to clothe with its own garniture of manners and 
sentiment, and to imbue with its own morality. 
In the present version they may have lost much of 
their classical aspect (or, at all events, the author 
has not been careful to preserve it), and have, per- 
haps, assumed a Gothic or romantic guise. 

In performing this pleasant task — for it has been 
really a task fit for hot weather, and one of the 
most agreeable, of a literary kind, which he ever 
undertook — the author has not always thought it 
necessary to write downward, in order to meet the 
comprehension of children. He has generally suf- 
fered the theme to soar, whenever such was its ten- 
dency, and when he himself was buoyant enough to 
follow without an effort. Children possess an un- 
estimated sensibility to whatever is deep or high in 
imagination or feeling, so long as it is simple, like- 
wise. It is only the artificial and the complex that 
bewilder them. 

Lexox, July 15, 1851. 


The “Wonder-Book” stories selected for this 


volume are : 

PAGE 

The Goldex Touch 7 

The Paradise of Children 34 

The Three Goldex Apples 60 

The Miraculous Pitcher 92 


THE GOLDEN TOtJCH.'^ 


1 . 

Once upon a time, there lived a very rich man, 
and a king besides, whose name was Midas ; and he 
had a little daughter, whom nobody but myself ever 
heard of, and whose name I either never knew, or 
have entirely forgotten. So, because I love odd 
names for little girls, I choose to call her Marygold. 

This King Midas was fonder of gold than of any- 
thing else in the world. He valued his royal crown 
chiefly because it was composed of that precious 
metal. If he loved anything better, or half so well, 
it was the one little maiden who played so merrily 
around her father’s footstool. But the more Midas 
loved his daughter, the more did he desire and seek 
for wealth. He thought, foolish man ! that the best 
thing he could possibly do for this dear child would 

* Midas {p’on. mr'das), according to the Greek mythology, was a 
king of Phrygia, whose request that whatsoever he touched should 
turn to gold was granted by Diony'sus (Bacchus). In this way 
even his food became gold, and it was not till he had bathed in the 
Pacto'lus that he was relieved of the fatal gift. 


8 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


be to bequeath her the immensest pile of yellow, glis- 
tening coin, that had ever been heaped together since 
the world was made. Thus, he gave all his thoughts 
and all his time to this one purpose. If ever he 
happened to gaze for an instant at the gold- tinted 
clouds of sunset, he wished that they were real gold, 
and that they could be squeezed safely into his strong 
box. When little Marygold ran to meet him, with 
a bunch of buttercups and dandelions, he used to 
say, “ Poh, poh, child ! If these flowers were as 
golden as they look, they would be worth the 
plucking ! ” 

And yet, in his earlier days, before he was so en- 
tirely possessed of this insane desire for riches. King 
Midas had shown a great taste for flowers. He had 
planted a garden, in which grew the biggest and 
beautifullest and sweetest roses that any mortal ever 
saw or smelt. These roses were still growing in the 
garden, as large, as lovely, and as fragrant, as when 
Midas used to pass whole hours in gazing at them, 
and inhaling their perfume. But now, if he looked 
at them at all, it was only to calculate how much 
the garden would be worth if each of the innumer- 
able rose-petals were a thin plate of gold. And 
though he once was fond of music (in spite of an 
idle story about his ears, which were said to re- 
semble those of an ass), the only music for poor 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


9 


Midas, now, was the chink of one coin against 
another. 

At length (as people always grow more and more 
foolish, unless they take care to grow wiser and 
wiser), Midas had got to be so exceedingly unreason- 
able, that he could scarcely bear to see or touch any 
object that was not gold. He made it his custom, 
therefore, to pass a large portion of every day in a 
dark and dreary apartment, under ground, at the 
basement of his palace. It was here that he kept 
his wealth. To this dismal hole — for it was little 
better than a dungeon — Midas betook himself, when- 
ever he wanted to be particularly happy. Here, 
after carefully locking the door, he would take a 
bag of gold coin, or a gold cup as big as a wash- 
bowl, or a heavy golden bar, or a peck-measure of 
gold-dust, and bring them from the obscure corners 
of the room into the one bright and narrow sunbeam 
that fell from the dungeon-like window. He valued 
the sunbeam for no other reason but that his treas- 
ure would not shine without its help. And then 
would he reckon o\^er the coins in the bag ; toss up 
the bar, and catch it as it came down ; sift the gold- 
dust through his fingers ; look at the funny image 
of his own face, as reflected in the burnished circum- 
ference of the cup ; and whisper to himself, O 
Midas, rich King Midas, what a happy man aH 


10 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


thou ! ’’ But it was laughable to see how the image 
of his face kept grinning at him, out of the polished 
surface of the cup. It seemed to be aware of his 
foolish behavior, and to have a naughty inclination 
to make fun of him. 

Midas called himself a happy man, but felt that 
he was not yet quite so happy as he might be. The 
very tiptop of enjoyment would never be reached, 
unless the whole world were to become his treasure- 
room, and be filled with yellow metal which should 
be all his own. 

Now, I need hardly remind such wise little people 
as you are, that in the old, old times, when King 
Midas was alive, a great many things came to pass, 
which we should consider wonderful if they were to 
happen in our own day and country. And, on the 
other hand, a great many things take place nowa- 
days, which seem not only wonderful to us, but at 
which the people of old times would have stared their 
eyes out. On the whole, I regard our own times as 
the strangest of the two ; but, however that may be, 
I must go on with my story. 

Midas was enjoying himself in his treasure-room, 
one day, as usual, when he perceived a shadow fall 
over the heaps of gold ; and, looking suddenly up, 
what should he behold but the figure of a stranger, 
standing in the bright and narrow sunbeam! It 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


11 


was a young man, with a cheerful and ruddy face. 
Whether it was that the imagination of King Midas 
threw a yellow tinge over everything, or whatever 
the cause might be, he could not help fancying that 
the smile with which the stranger regarded him had 
a kind of golden radiance in it. Certainly, although 
his figure intercepted the sunshine, there was now a 
brighter gleam upon all the piled-up treasures than 
before. Even the remotest corners had their share 
of it, and were lighted up, when the stranger smiled, 
as with tips of flame and sparkles of Are. 

As Midas knew that he had carefully turned the 
key in the lock, and that no mortal strength could 
possibly break into his treasure-room; he, of course, 
concluded that his visitor must be something more 
than mortal. It is no matter about telling you who 
he was. In those days, when the earth was compara- 
tively a new affair, it was supposed 'to be often the 
resort of beings endowed with supernatural power, 
and who used to interest themselves in the joys and 
sorrows of men, women, and children, half playfully 
and half seriously. Midas had met such beings be- 
fore now, and was not sorry to meet one of them 
again. The stranger’s aspect, indeed, was so good- 
humored and kindly, if not beneficent, that it would 
have been unreasonable to suspect him of intending 
any mischief. It was far more probable that he 


i 


12 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


came to do Midas a favor. And what could that 
favor be, unless to multiply his heaps of treasure ? 

II. 

The stranger gazed about the room ; and when 
his lustrous smile had glistened upon all the golden 
objects that were there, he turned again to Midas. 

^^You are a wealthy man, friend Midas!” he ob- 
served. “ I doubt whether any other four walls, on 
earth, contain so much gold as you have contrived 
to pile up in this room.” 

I have done pretty well, — pretty well,” answered 
Midas, in a discontented tone. “ But, after all, it is 
but a trihe, when you consider that it has taken me 
my whole life to get it together. If one could live 
a thousand years, he might have time to grow rich ! ” 
“ What 1 ” exclaimed the stranger. Then you are 
not satisfied ? ” 

Midas shook his head. 

And pray what would* satisfy you ? ” asked the 
stranger. Merely for the curiosity of the thing, I 
should be glad to know.” 

Midas paused and meditated. He felt a presenti- 
ment that this stranger, with such a golden lustre in 
his good-humored smile, had come hither with both 
the power and the purpose of gratifying his utmost 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


13 


wishes. Now, therefore, was the fortunate moment, 
when he had but to speak, and obtain whatever pos- 
sible, or seemingly impossible thing, it might come 
into his head to ask. So he thought, and thought, 
and thought, and heaped up one golden mountain 
upon another, in his imagination, without being 
able to imagine them big enough. At last, a bright 
idea occurred to King Midas. It seemed really as 
bright as the glistening metal which he loved so 
much. 

Raising his head, he looked the lustrous stranger 
in the face. 

“Well, Midas,” observed his visitor, “I see that 
you have at length hit upon something that will 
satisfy you. Tell me your wish.” 

“ It is only this,” replied Midas. “ I am weary of 
collecting my treasures with so much trouble, and 
beholding the heap so diminutive, after I have done 
my best. I wish everything that I touch to be 
changed to gold ! ” 

The stranger’s smile grew so very broad, that it 
seemed to fill the room like an outburst of the sun, 
gleaming into a shadowy dell, where the yellow au- 
tumnal leaves — for so looked the lumps and parti- 
cles of gold — lie strewn in the glow of light. / 

“ The Golden Touch ! ” exclaimed he. “ You cer- 
tainly deserve credit, friend Midas, for striking out 


14 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


SO brilliant a conception.* But are you quite sure 
that this will satisfy you ? ” 

How could it fail ? ” said Midas. 

“ And will you never regret the possession of it ? ” 
What could induce me ? ” asked Midas. I ask 
nothing else, to render me perfectly happy.” 

^^Be it as you wish, then,” replied the stranger, 
waving his hand in token of farewell. To-morrow, 
at sunrise, you will find yourself gifted with the 
Golden Touch.” 

The figure of the stranger then became exceed- 
ingly bright, and Midas involuntarily closed his 
eyes. On opening them again, he beheld only one 
yellow sunbeam in the room, and, all around him, 
the glistening of the precious metal which he had 
spent his life in hoarding up. 

Whether Midas slept as usual that night, the story 
does not say. Asleep or awake, however, his mind 
was probably in the state of a child’s, to whom a 
beautiful new plaything has been promised in the 
morning. At any rate, day had hardly peeped over 
the hills, when King Midas was broad awake, and, 
stretching his arms out of bed, began to touch the 
objects that were within reach. He was anxious to 
prove whether the Golden Touch had really come, 
according to the stranger’s promise. So he laid his 


thought. 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


15 


finger on a chair by the bedside, and on various 
other things, but was grievously disappointed to 
perceive that they remained of exactly the same 
substance as before. Indeed, he felt very much 
afraid that he had only dreamed about the lustrous 
stranger, or else that the latter had been making 
game of him. And what a miserable affair would it 
be, if, after all his hopes, Midas must content him- 
self with what little gold he could scrape together 
by ordinary means, instead of creating it by a touch ! 

All this while, it was only the gray of the morn- 
ing, with but a streak of brightness along the edge 
of the sky, where Midas could not see it. He lay 
in a very disconsolate mood, regretting the downfall 
of his hopes, and kept growing sadder and sadder, 
until the earliest sunbeam shone through the win- 
dow, and gilded the ceiling over his head. It seemed 
to Midas that this bright yellow sunbeam was re- 
flected in rather a singular way on the white cover- 
ing of the bed. Looking more closely, what was his 
astonishment and delight, when he found that this 
linen fabric had been transmuted to what seemed a 
woven texture of the purest and brightest gold ! 
The Golden Touch had come to him with the first 
sunbeam ! 

Midas started up, in a kind of joyful frenzy, and 
ran about the room, grasping at everything that 


16 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


happened to be in his way. He seized one of the 
bedposts, and it became immediately a fluted golden 
pillar. He pulled aside a window-curtain, in order 
to admit a clear spectacle of the wonders which 
he was performing; and the tassel grew heavy in 
his hand,— a mass of gold. He took up a book 
from the table. At his first touch, it assumed the 
appearance of such a splendidly bound and gilt- 
edged volume as one often meets with, nowadays ; 
but, on running his fingers through the leaves, be- 
hold ! it was a bundle of thin golden plates, in which 
all the wisdom of the book had grown illegible. He 
hurriedly put on his clothes, and was enraptured to 
see himself in a magnificent suit of gold cloth, which 
retained its flexibility and softness, although it bur- 
dened him a little with its weight. He drew out 
his handkerchief, which little Marygold had hemmed 
for him. That was likewise gold, with the dear 
child’s neat and pretty stitches running all along 
the border, in gold thread ! 

Somehow or other, this last transformation did 
not ,quite please King Midas. He would rather 
that his little daughter’s handiwork should have re- 
mained just the same as when she climbed his knee 
and put it into his hand. 

But it was not worth while to vex himself about 
a trifle. Midas now took his spectacles from his 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


17 


pocket, and put them on kis nose, in order that he 
might see more distinctly what he was about. In 
those days, spectacles for common people had not 
been invented, but were already worn by kings; 
else, how could Midas have had any ? To his great 
perplexity, however, excellent as the glasses were, 
he discovered that he could not possibly see through 
them. But this was the most natural thing in the 
world ; for, on taking them off, the transparent crys- 
tals turned out to be plates of yellow metal, and, of 
course, were worthless as spectacles, though valua- 
ble as gold. It struck Midas as rather inconvenient 
that, with all his wealth, he could never again be 
rich enough to own a pair of serviceable spectacles. 

^Mt is no great matter, nevertheless,” said he to 
himself, very philosophically. ^^We cannot expect 
any great good, without its being accompanied with 
some small inconvenience. The Golden Touch is 
worth the sacrifice of a pair of spectacles, at least, if 
not of one’s very eyesight. My own eyes will serve 
for ordinary purposes, and little Marygold will soon 
be old enough to read to me.” 

Wise King Midas was so exalted by his good for- 
tune, that the palace seemed not sufficiently spacious 
to contain him. He therefore went down stairs, and 
smiled, on observing that the balustrade of the stair- 
case became a bar of burnished gold, as his hand 


2 


18 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


passed over it, in his descent. He lifted the door- 
latch (it was brass only a moment ago, but golden 
when his fingers quitted it), and emerged into the 
garden. Here, as it happened, he found a great 
number of beautiful roses in full bloom, and others 
in all the stages of lovely bud and blossom. Very 
delicious was their fragrance in the morning breeze. 
Their delicate blush was one of the fairest sights in 
the world ; so gentle, so modest, and so full of sweet 
tranquillity, did these roses seem to be. 

But Midas knew a way to make them far more 
precious, according to his way of thinking, than 
roses had ever been before. So he took great pains 
in going from bush to bush, and exercised his magic 
touch most indefatigably * ; until every individual 
fiower and bud, and even the worms at the heart of 
some of them, were changed to gold. By the time 
this good work was completed. King Midas was 
summoned to breakfast ; and as the morning air had 
given him an excellent appetite, he made haste back 
to the palace. 

What was usually a king’s breakfast in the days 
of Midas, I really do not know, and cannot stop now 
to investigate. To the best of my belief, however, 
on this particular morning, the breakfast consisted 
of hot cakes, some nice little brook-trout, roasted 

* for a long time without getting tired. 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


19 


potatoes, fresh boiled eggs, and coffee, for King 
Midas himself, and a bowl of bread and milk for 
his daughter Marygold. At all events, this is a 
breakfast fit to set before a king ; and, whether 
he had it or not. King Midas could not have had a 
better. 

III. 

Little Marygold had not yet made her appear- 
ance. Her father ordered her to be called, and, 
seating himself at table, awaited the child’s coming, 
in order to begin his own breakfast. To do Midas 
justice, he really loved his daughter, and loved her 
so much the more this morning, on account of the 
good fortune which had befallen him. It was not a 
great while before he heard her coining along the 
passageway crying bitterly. This circumstance sur- 
prised him, because Marygold was one of the cheer- 
fullest little people whom you would see in a 
summer’s day, and hardly shed a thimbleful of tears 
in a twelvemonth. When Midas heard her sobs, he 
determined to put little Marygold into better spirits, 
by an agreeable surprise; so, leaning across the 
table, he touched his daughter’s bowl (which was a 
China one, with pretty figures all around it), and 
transmuted* it to gleaming gold. 

* changed it to something of a different nature. 


20 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


Meanwhile, Marygold slowly and disconsolately 
opened the door, and showed herself with her 
apron at her eyes, still sobbing as if her heart would 
break. 

“ How now, my little lady ! ” cried Midas. Pray 
what is the matter with you, this bright morning ? ” 
Marygold, without taking the apron from her 
eyes, held out her hand, in which was one of the 
roses which Midas had so recently transmuted. 

Beautiful ! ” exclaimed her father. “ And what 
is there in this magnificent golden rose to make you 
cry ? ” 

Ah, dear father ! ” answered the child, as well as 
her sobs would let her ; it is not beautiful, but the 
ugliest flower that ever grew ! As soon as I was 
dressed I ran into the garden to gather some roses 
for you; because I know you like them, and like 
them the better when gathered by your little 
daughter. But, oh dear, dear me ! What do you 
think has happened ? Such a misfortune ! All the 
beautiful roses, that smelled so sweetly and had so 
many lovely blushes, are blighted and spoilt ! They 
are grown quite yellow, as you see this one, and 
have no longer any fragrance! What can have 
been the matter with them ? ” 

'' Poh, my dear little girl,— pray don’t cry about 
it ! ” said Midas, who was ashamed to confess that 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


21 


he himself had wrought the change which so 
greatly afflicted her. ^‘Sit down and eat your 
bread and milk! You will find it easy enough to 
exchange a golden rose like that (which will last 
hundreds of years) for an ordinary one which would 
wither in a day.” 

“ I don’t care for such roses as this ! ” cried Mary- 
gold, tossing it contemptuously away. ^Mt has no 
smell, and' the hard petals prick my nose ! ” 

The child now sat down to table, but was so 
occupied with her grief for the blighted roses that 
she did not even notice the wonderful transmu- 
tation of her China bowl. Perhaps this was all 
the better; for Marygold was accustomed to take 
pleasure in looking at the queer figures, and strange 
trees and houses, that were painted on the circum- 
ference of the bowl ; and these ornaments were now 
entirely lost in the yellow hue of the metal. 

Midas, meanwhile, had poured out a cup of coffee, 
and, as a matter of course, the coffee-pot, whatever 
metal it may have been when he took it up, was 
gold when he set it down. He thought to himself, 
that it was rather an extravagant style of splendor, in 
a king of his simple habits, to breakfast off a service 
of gold, and began to be puzzled with the difficulty 
of keeping his treasures safe. The cupboard and 
the kitchen would no longer be a secure place of 


THE (^lOLHEN TOUCH. 


deposit for articles so valuable as golden bowls and 
coffee-pots. 

Amid these thoughts, he lifted a spoonful of coffee 
to his lips, and, sipping it, was astonished to per- 
ceive that, the instant his lips touched the li(][uid, it 
became molten gold, and, the next moment, hard- 
ened into a lump ! 

Ha ! ” exclaimed Midas, rather aghast. 

What is the matter, father ? ” asked little Mary- 
gold, gazing at him, with the tears still standing in 
her eyes. 

‘‘ Nothing, child, nothing ! ” said Midas. “ Eat 
your milk, before it gets quite cold.” 

He took one of the nice little trouts on his plate, 
and, by way of experiment, touched its tail with his 
finger. To his horror, it was immediately trans- 
muted from an admirably fried brook-trout into a 
gold-fish, though not one of those gold-fishes which 
people often keep in glass globes, as ornaments for 
the parlor. No; but it was really a metallic fish, 
and looked as if it had been very cunningly made 
by the nicest goldsmith in the world. Its little 
bones were now golden wires ; its fins and tail were 
thin plates of gold ; and there were the marks of 
the fork in it, and all the delicate, frothy appearance 
of a nicely fried fish, exactly imitated in metal. A 
very pretty piece of work, as you may suppose ; 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


23 


only King Midas, just at that moment, would much 
rather have had a real trout in his dish than this 
elaborate and valuable imitation of one. 

“ I don’t quite see,” thought he to himself, “ how 
I am to get any breakfast ! 

He took one of the smoking-hot cakes, and had 
scarcely broken it, when, to his cruel mortification, 
though, a moment before, it had been of the whitest 
wheat, it assumed the yellow hue of Indian meal. 
To say the truth, if it had really been a hot Indian 
cake, Midas would have prized it a good deal more 
than he now did, when its solidity and increased 
weight made him too bitterly sensible that it w^as 
gold. Almost in despair, he helped himself to a 
boiled egg, which immediately underwent a change 
similar to those of the trout and the cake. The 
egg, indeed, might have been mistaken for one of 
those which the famous goose, in the story-book, 
was in the habit of laying ; but King Midas was the 
only goose that had had anything to do with the 
matter. 

^^Well, this is a quandary!” thought he, leaning 
back in his chair, and looking quite enviously at 
little Marygold, who was now eating her bread and 
milk with great satisfaction. “ Such a costly break- 
fast before me, and nothing that can be eaten 1 ” 

Hoping that, by dint of great dispatch, he might 


24 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


avoid what he now felt to be a considerable incon- 
venience, King Midas next snatched a hot potato, 
and attempted to cram it into his mouth, and swal- 
low it in a hurry. But the Golden Touch was too 
nimble for him. He found his mouth full, not of 
mealy potato, but of solid metal, which so burnt his 
tongue that he roared aloud, and, jumping up from 
the table, began to dance and stamp about the 
room, both with pain and affright. 

Father, dear father ! ” cried little Marygold, 
who was a very affectionate child, “pray what is 
the matter ? Have you burnt your mouth ? ” 

“Ah, dear child,” groaned Midas, dolefully, “I 
don’t know what is to become of your poor father ! ” 
And, truly, my dear little folks, did you ever hear 
of such a pitiable case in all your lives ? Here was 
literally the richest breakfast that could be set 
before a king, and its very richness made it abso- 
lutely good for nothing. The poorest laborer, sit- 
ting down to his crust of bread and cup of water, 
was far better off than King Midas, whose delicate 
food was really worth its weight in gold. And 
what was to be done ? Already, at breakfast, Midas 
was excessively hungry. Would he be less so by 
dinner-time ? And how ravenous would be his ap- 
petite for supper, which must undoubtedly consist 
of the same sort of indigestible dishes as those now 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


25 


before him ! How many days, think you, would he 
survive a continuance of this rich fare ? 

These reflections so troubled wise King Midas, 
that he began to doubt whether, after all, riches are 
the one desirable thing in the world, or even the 
most desirable. But this was only a passing 
thought. So fascinated was Midas with the glitter 
of the yellow metal, that he would still have refused 
to give up the Golden Touch for so paltry a con- 
sideration as a breakfast. Just imagine what a 
price for one meal’s victuals ! It would have been 
the same as paying millions and millions of money 
(and as many millions more as would take forever 
to reckon up) for some fried trout, an egg, a potato, 
a hot cake, and a cup of coffee ! 

It would be quite too dear,” thought Midas. 

Nevertheless, so great was his hunger, and the 
perplexity of his situation, that he again groaned 
aloud, and very grievously too. Our pretty Mary- 
gold could endure it no longer. She sat, a moment, 
gazing at her father, and trying, with all the might 
of her little wits, to And out what was the matter 
with him. Then, with a sweet and sorrowful im- 
pulse to comfort him, she started from her chair, 
and, running to Midas, threw her arms affectionately 
about his knees. He bent down and kissed her. 
He felt that his little daughter’s love was worth a 


26 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


thousand times more than he had gained by the 
Golden Touch. 

“ My precious, precious Marygold ! ” cried he. 

But Marygold made no answer. 

Alas, what had he done ? How fatal was the gift 
which the stranger bestowed ! The moment the 
lips of Midas touched Mary gold’s forehead, a change 
had taken place. Her sweet, rosy face, so full of 
affection as it had been, assumed a glittering yellow 
color, with yellow tear-drops congealing on her 
cheeks. Her beautiful brown ringlets took the 
same tint. Her soft and tender little form grew 
hard and inflexible within her father’s encircling 
arms. Oh, terrible misfortune ! The victim of his 
insatiable desire for wealth, little Marygold was a 
human child no longer, but a golden statue ! 

Yes, there she was, with the questioning look of 
love, grief, and pity, hardened into her face. It was 
the prettiest and most woful sight that ever mortal 
saw. All the features and tokens of Marygold Avere 
there ; even the beloved little dimple remained in 
her golden chin. But, the more perfect was the re- 
semblance, the greater was the father’s agony at 
beholding this golden image, which was all that was 
left him of a daughter. It had been a favorite 
phrase of Midas, whenever he felt particularly fond 
of the child, to say that she was worth her weight 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


27 


in gold. And now the phrase had become literally 
true. And now, at last, when it was too late, he 
felt how infinitely a warm and tender heart, that 
loved him, exceeded in value all the wealth that 
could be piled up betwixt the earth and sky ! 

It would be too sad a story, if I were to tell you 
how Midas, in the fulness of all his gratified desires, 
began to wring his hands and bemoan himself ; and 
how he could neither bear to look at Marygold, nor 
yet to look away from her. Except when his eyes 
were fixed on the image, he could not possibly 
believe that she was changed to gold. But, stealing 
another glance, there was the precious little figure, 
with a yellow tear-drop on its yellow cheek, and a 
look so piteous and tender, that it seemed as if that* 
very expression must needs soften the gold, and 
make it fiesh again. This, however, could not be. 
So Midas had only to wring his hands, and to wish 
that he were the poorest man in the wide world, if 
the loss of all his wealth might bring back the 
faintest rose-color to his dear child’s face. 

IV. 

While he was in this tumult of despair, he sud- 
denly beheld a stranger standing near the door. 
Midas bent down his head, without speaking; for 


28 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


lie recognized tlie same figure which had appeared 
to him, the day before, in the treasure-room, and had 
bestowed on him this disastrous faculty of the 
Golden Touch. The stranger’s countenance still 
wore a smile, which seemed to shed a yellow lustre 
all about the room, and gleamed on little Marygold’s 
image, and on the other objects that had been trans- 
muted by the touch of Midas. 

“Well, friend Midas,” said the stranger, “pray 
how do you succeed with the Golden Touch ? ” 
Midas shook his head. 

“ I am very miserable,” said he. 

“ Very miserable, indeed ! ” exclaimed the stranger. 
“And how happens that? Have I not faithfully 
kept my promise with you ? Have you not every- 
thing that your heart desired ? ” 

“ Gold is not everything,” answered Midas. “ And 
I have lost all that my heart really cared for.” 

“ Ah ! So you have made a discovery, since yes- 
terday ? ” observed the stranger. “ Let us see, then. 
Which of these two things do you think is really 
worth the most, — ^the gift of the Golden Touch, or 
one cup of clear cold water ? ” 

“ O blessed water ! ” exclaimed Midas. “ It will 
never moisten my parched throat again 1 ” 

“ The Golden Touch,” continued the stranger, “ or 
a crust of bread ? ” 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


29 


‘‘A piece of bread,” answered Midas, “is worth 
all the gold on earth ! ” 

“The Golden Touch,” asked the stranger, “or 
your own little Marygold, warm, soft, and loving 
as she was an hour ago ? ” 

“ O my child, my dear child ! ” cried poor Midas, 
wringing his hands. “ I would not have given that 
one small dimple in her chin for the power of 
changing this whole big earth into a solid lump 
of gold ! ” 

“ You are wiser than you were. King Midas ! ” 
said the stranger, looking seriously at him. “Your 
own heart, I perceive, has not been entirely changed 
from flesh to gold. Were it so, your case would 
indeed be desperate. But you appear to be still 
capable of understanding that the commonest things, 
such as lie within everybody’s grasp, are more valu- 
able than the riches which so many mortals sigh 
and struggle after. Tell me, now, do you sincerely 
desire to rid yourself of this Golden Touch ? ” 

“ It is hateful to me ! ” replied Midas. 

A fly settled on his nose, but immediately fell to 
the floor ; for it, too, had become gold. Midas shud- 
dered. 

“ Go, then,” said the stranger, “ and plunge into 
the river that glides past the bottom of your garden. 
Take likewise a vase of the same water, and sprinkle 


30 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


it over any object that you may desire to change 
back again from gold into its former substance. If 
you do this in earnestness and sincerity, it may 
possibly repair the mischief which your avarice has 
occasioned.” 

King Midas bowed low ; and when he lifted his 
head, the lustrous stranger had vanished. 

You will easily believe that Midas lost no time in 
snatching up a great earthen pitcher (but, alas me ! 
it was no longer earthen after he touched it), and 
hastening to the river-side. As he scampered along, 
and forced his way through the shrubbery, it was 
positively marvellous to see how the foliage turned 
yellow behind him, as if the autumn had been there, 
and nowhere else. On reaching the river’s brink, he 
plunged headlong in, without waiting so much as to 
pull off his shoes. 

Poof ! poof ! poof ! ” snorted King Midas, as his 
head emerged out of the water. “Well; this is 
really a refreshing bath, and I think it must have 
quite washed aw^ay the Golden Touch. And now 
for filling my pitcher ! ” 

As he dipped the pitcher into the water, it glad- 
dened his very heart to see it change from gold into 
the same good, honest earthen vessel which it had 
been before he touched it. He was conscious, also, 
of a change within himself. A cold, hard, and heavy 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


31 


weight seemed to have gone out of his bosom. No 
doubt, his heart had been gradually losing its 
human substance, and transmuting itself into insen- 
sible metal, but had now softened back again into 
flesh. Perceiving a violet, that grew on the bank of 
the river, Midas touched it with his finger, and was 
overjoyed to find that the delicate dower retained 
its purple hue, instead of undergoing a yellow 
blight. The curse of the Golden Touch had, there- 
fore, really been removed from him. 

King Midas hastened back to the palace ; and, I 
suppose, the servants knew not what to make of it 
when they saw their royal master so carefully bring- 
ing home an earthen pitcher of water. But that 
water, which was to undo all the mischief that his 
folly had wrought, was more precious to Midas than 
an ocean of molten gold could have been. The first 
thing he did, as you need hardly be told, was to 
sprinkle it by handfuls over the golden figure of 
little Marygold. 

No sooner did it fall on her than you would have 
laughed to see how the rosy color came back to the 
dear child’s cbeek ! and how she began to sneeze and 
sputter ! — and how astonished she was to find her- 
self dripping wet, and her father still throwing more 
water over her ! 

Pray do not, dear father ! ” cried she. “ See how 


32 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


you have wet my nice frock, which I put on only 
this morning ! ” 

For Marygold did not know that she had been a 
little golden statue; nor could she remember any- 
thing that had happened since the moment when she 
ran with outstretched arms to comfort poor King 
Midas. 

Her father did not think it necessary to tell his 
beloved child how very foolish he had been, but 
contented himself with showing how much wiser 
he had now grown. For this purpose, he led little 
Marygold into the garden, where he sprinkled all 
the remainder of the water over the rose-bushes, 
and with such good effect that above five thousand 
roses recovered their beautiful bloom. There were 
two circumstances, however, which, as long as he 
lived, used to put King Midas in mind of the 
Golden Touch. One was, that the sands of the 
river sparkled like gold ; the other, that little Mary- 
gold’s hair had now a golden tinge, which he had 
never observed in it before she had been transmuted 
by the effect of his kiss. This change of hue was 
really an improvement, and made Marygold’s hair 
richer than in her babyhood. 

When King Midas had grown quite an old man, 
and used to trot Marygold’s children on his knee, 
he was fond of telling them this marvellous story, 


THE GOLDEN TOUCH. 


33 


pretty much as I have now told it to you. And 
then would he stroke their glossy ringlets, and tell 
them that their hair, likewise, had a rich shade of 
gold, which they had inherited from their mother. 

“And to tell you the truth, my precious little 
folks,” quoth King Midas, diligently trotting the 
children all the while, “ever since that morning, I 
have hated the very sight of all other gold, save 
this!” 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN; 


I. 

Long, long ago, when this old world was in its 
tender infancy, there was a child, named Epime- 
theus, who never had either father or mother ; and, 
that he might not be lonely, another child, father- 
less and motherless like himself, was sent from a 
far country, to live with him, and be his playfellow 
and helpmate. Her name was Pandora. 

The first thing that Pandora saw, when she entered 
the cottage where Epimetheus dwelt, was a great 
box. And almost the first question which she put 
to him, after crossing the threshold, was this, — 

“ Epimetheus, what have you in that box ? ” 

My dear little Pandora,” answered Epimetheus, 
that is a secret, and you must be kind enough not 


* According to the Greek mythology, Pandora {‘pron. pan-do'ra) 
was the first woman sent to the earth, and Epimetheus {pron. ep-i- 
me'thus) was her husband. Mercury (called Quicksilver in this 
story) was the messenger of Zeus {pron. zus ; the Roman Jupiter), 
the king of the gods. He wore a winged cap and winged shoes, and 
bore in his hand a rod entwined with two serpents, called the 
caduceus. 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


35 


to ask any questions about it. The box was left 
here to be kept safely, and I do not myself know 
what it contains.” 

“ But who gave it to you ? ” asked Pandora. And 
where did it come from ? ” 

That is a secret, too,” replied Epimetheus. 

How provoking ! ” exclaimed Pandora, pouting 
her lip. “ I wish the great ugly box were out of the 
way ! ” 

“Oh come, don’t think of it any more,” cried 
Epimetheus. “ Let us run out of doors, and have 
some nice play with the other children.” 

It is thousands of years since Epimetheus and 
Pandora were alive ; and the world, nowadays, is a 
very different sort of thing from what it was in their 
time. Then, everybody was a child. There needed 
no fathers and mothers to take care of the children ; 
because there was no danger, nor trouble of any 
kind, and no clothes to be mended, and there was 
always plenty to eat and drink. Whenever a child 
wanted his dinner, he found it growing on a tree ; 
and, if he looked at the tree in the morning, he 
could see the expanding blossom of that night’s 
supper ; or, at eventide, he saw the tender bud of 
to-morrow’s breakfast. It was a very pleasant life 
indeed. No labor to be done, no tasks to be 
studied ; nothing but sports and dances, and sweet 


36 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


voices of children talking, or carolling like birds, or 
gushing out in merry laughter, throughout the live- 
long day. 

What was most wonderful of all, the children 
never quarrelled among themselves ; neither had 
they any crying fits ; nor, since time first began, had 
a single one of these little mortals ever gone apart 
into a corner, and sulked. Oh, what a good time 
was that to be alive in ! The truth is, those ugly 
little winged monsters, called Troubles, which are 
now almost as numerous as mosquitoes, had never 
yet been seen on the earth. It is probable that the 
very greatest disquietude which a child had ever 
experienced was Pandora’s vexation at not being 
able to discover the secret of the mysterious box. 

This was at first only the faint shadow of a 
Trouble ; but, every day, it grew more and more 
substantial, until, before a great while, the cottage 
of Epimetheus and Pandora was less sunshiny than 
those of the other children. 

Whence can the box have come ? ” Pandora con- 
tinually kept saying to herself and to Epimetheus. 
“ And what in the world can be inside of it ? ” 

“Always talking about this box!” said Epime- 
theus, at last ; for he had grown extremely tired of 
the subject. “ I wish, dear Pandora, you would try 
to talk of something else. Come, let us go and 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


37 


gather some ripe figs, and eat them under the trees, 
for our supper. And I know a vine that has the 
sweetest and juiciest grapes you ever tasted.” 

“ Always talking about grapes and figs ! ” cried 
Pandora, pettishly. 

“Well, then,” said Epimetheus, who was a very 
good-tempered child, like a multitude of children in 
those days, “ let us run out and have a merry time 
with our playmates.” 

“ I am tired of merry times, and don’t care if I 
never have any more ! ” answered our pettish little 
Pandora. “ And, besides, I never do have any. 
This ugly box ! I am so taken up with thinking 
about it all the time. I insist upon your telling 
me what is inside of it.” 

“As I have already said, fifty times over, I do 
not know ! ” replied Epimetheus, getting a little 
vexed. “ How, then, can I tell you what is inside ? ” 

“You might open it,” said Pandora, looking side- 
ways at Epimetheus, “and then we could see for 
ourselves.” 

“ Pandora, what are you thinking of ? ” exclaimed 
Epimetheus. 

And his face expressed so much horror at the 
idea of looking into a box, which had been confided 
to him on the condition of his never opening it, that 
Pandora thought it best not to suggest it any more. 


38 


THE PARADISE OP CHILDREN. 


Still, however, she could not help thinking and talk- 
ing about the box. 

At least,” said she, “ you can tell me how it 
came here.” 

^^It was left at the door,” replied Epimetheus, 
^^just before you came, by a person who looked 
very smiling and intelligent, and who could hardly 
forbear laughing as he put it down. He was 
dressed in an odd kind of a cloak, and had on a 
cap that seemed to be made partly of feathers, so 
that it looked almost as if it had wings.” 

What sort of a staff had he ? ” asked Pandora. 

Oh, the most curious staff you ever saw ! ” cried 
Epimetheus. “It was like two serpents twisting 
around a stick, and was carved so naturally that I, 
at first, thought the serpents were alive.” 

“ I know him,” said Pandora, thoughtfully. “ 'No- 
body else has such a staff. It was Quicksilver ; and 
he brought me hither, as well as the box. No 
doubt he intended it for me ; and, most probably, it 
contains j)Totty dresses for me to wear, or toys for 
you and me to play with, or something very nice 
for us both to eat ! ” 

“Perhaps so,” answered Epimetheus, turning 
away. “But until Quicksilver comes back and 
tells us so, we have neither of us any right to lift 
the lid of the box.” 


THE PARADISE OP CHILDREN. 


39 


“ What a dull boy he is ! ” muttered Pandora, as 
Epimetheus left the cottage. I do wish he had a 
little more enterprise ! ” 

For the first time since her arrival, Epimetheus 
had gone out without asking Pandora to accompany 
him. He went to gather figs and grapes by himself, 
or to seek whatever amusement he could find, in 
other society than his little playfellow’s. He was 
tired to death of hearing about the box, and heartily 
wished that Quicksilver, or whatever was the mes- 
senger’s name, had left it at some other child’s door, 
where Pandora would never have set eyes on it. 
So perseveringly as she did babble about this one 
thing ! The box, the box, and nothing but the box ! 
It seemed as if the box were bewitched, and as if 
the cottage were not big enough to hold it, without 
Pandora’s continually stumbling over it, and making 
Epimetheus stumble over it likewise, and bruising 
all four of their shins. 

Well, it was really hard that poor Epimetheus 
should have a box in his ears from morning till 
night ; especially as the little people of the earth 
were so unaccustomed to vexations, in those happy 
days, that they knew not how to deal with them. 
Thus, a small vexation made as much disturbance 
then, as a far bigger one would in our own times. 

After Epimetheus was gone. Pandora stood gaz- 


40 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


ing at the box. She had called it ugly, above a 
hundred times; but, in spite of all that she had 
said against it, it v^as positively a very handsome 
article of furniture, and would have been quite an 
ornament to any room in which it should be placed. 
It was made of a beautiful kind of wood, with dark 
and rich veins spreading over its surface, which was 
so highly polished that little Pandora could see her 
face in it. As the child had no other looking-glass, 
it is odd that she did not value the box, merely on 
this account. 

The edges and corners of the box were carved 
with most wonderful skill. Around the margin 
there were figures of graceful men and women, and 
the prettiest children ever seen, reclining or sporting 
amid a profusion of flowers and foliage ; and these 
various objects were so exquisitely represented, and 
were wrought together in such harmony, that 
flowers, foliage, and human beings seemed to com- 
bine into a wreath of mingled beauty. But here 
and there, peeping forth from behind the carved 
foliage. Pandora once or twice fancied that she saw 
a face not so lovely, or something or other that was 
disagreeable, and which stole the beauty out of all 
the rest. Nevertheless, on looking more closely, 
and touching the spot with her finger, she could 
discover nothing of the kind. Some face, that was 


THE PARADISE OP CHILDREN. 


41 


really beautiful, bad been made to look ugly by her 
catching a sideway glimpse at it. 

The most beautiful face of all was done in what 
is called high relief, in the centre of the lid. There 
was nothing else, save the dark, smooth richness of 
the polished wood, and this one face in the centre, 
- with a garland of flowers about its brow. Pandora 
had looked at this face a great many times, and 
imagined that the mouth could smile if it liked, or 
be grave when it chose, the same as any living 
mouth. The features, indeed, all wore a very lively 
and rather mischievous expression, which looked 
almost as if it needs must burst out of the carved 
lips, and utter itself in words. 

Had the mouth spoken, it would probably have 
been something like this : 

Do not be afraid. Pandora ! What harm can 
there be in opening the box? Never mind that poor, 
simple Epimetheus ! You are wiser than he, and 
have ten times as much spirit. Open the box, and 
see if you do not find something very pretty ! ” 

II. 

The box, I had almost forgotten to say, was fas- 
tened ; not by a lock, nor by any other such contriv- 
ance, but by a very intricate knot of gold cord. 


42 


THE PARADISE OP CHILDREN. 


There appeared to be no end to this knot, and no 
beginning. Never was a knot so cunningly twisted, 
nor with so many ins and outs, which roguishly 
defied the skilfullest fingers to disentangle them. 
And yet, by the very difficulty that there was in it. 
Pandora was the more tempted to examine the knot, 
and just see how it was made. Two or three times, 
already, she had stooped over the box, and taken 
the knot between her thumb and forefinger, but 
without positively trying to undo it. 

I really believe,” said she to herself, that I begin 
to see how it was done. Nay, perhaps I could tie it 
up again, after undoing it. There would be no 
harm in that, surely. Even Epimetheus would not 
blame me for that. I need not open the box, and 
should not, of course, without the foolish boy’s con- 
sent, even if the knot were untied.” 

It might have been better for Pandora if she had 
had a little work to do, or anything to employ her 
mind upon, so as not to be so constantly thinking of 
this one subject. But children led so easy a life, 
before any Troubles came into the world, that they 
had really a great deal too much leisure. They 
could not be forever playing at hide-and-seek among 
the fiower-shrubs, or at blind-man’s-buff with gar- 
lands over their eyes, or at whatever other games 
had been found out, while Mother Earth was in her 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


43 


babyhood. When life is all sport, toil is the real 
play. There was absolutely nothing to do. A little 
sweeping and dusting about the cottage, I suppose, 
and the gathering of fresh flowers (which were only 
too abundant everywhere), and arranging them in 
vases, — and poor little Pandora’s day’s work was 
over. And then, for the rest of the day, there was 
the box. 

After all, I am not quite sure that the box was 
not a blessing to her in its way. It supplied her 
with such a variety of ideas to think of, and to 
talk about, whenever she had anybody to listen ! 
When she was in good-humor, she could admire the 
bright polish of its sides, and the rich border of 
beautiful faces and foliage that ran all around it. 
Or, if she chanced to be ill-tempered, she could give 
it a push, or kick it with her naughty little foot. 
And many a kick did the box — (but it was a mis- 
chievous box, as we shall see, and deserved all it 
got) — many a kick did it receive. But, certain it is, 
if it had not been for the box, our active-minded 
little Pandora would not have known half so well 
how to spend her time as she now did. 

For it was really an endless employment to guess 
what was inside. What could it be, indeed ? Just 
imagine, my little hearers, how busy your wits would 
be, if there were a great box in the house, which, as 


44 


THE PARADISE OP CHILDREN. 


you miglit have reason to suppose, contained some- 
thing new and pretty for your Christmas or New- 
Year’s gifts. Do you think that you should be less 
curious than Pandora ? If you were left alone with 
the box, might you not feel a little tempted to lift 
the lid ? But you would not do it. Oh, fie ! No, 
no ! Only, if you thought there were toys in it, it 
would be so very hard to let slip an opportunity of 
taking just one peep ! I know not whether Pandora 
expected any toys ; for none had yet begun to be 
made, probably, in those days, when the world itself 
was one great plaything for the children that dwelt 
upon it. But Pandora was convinced that there 
was something very beautiful and valuable in the 
box; and therefore she felt just as anxious to take 
a peep as any of these little girls, here around me, 
would have felt. And, possibly, a little more so; 
but of that I am not quite so certain. 

On this particular day, however, which we have 
so long been talking about, her curiosity grew so 
much greater than it usually was, that, at last, she 
approached the box. She was more than half deter- 
mined to open it, if she could. Ah, naughty Pan- 
dora ! 

First, however, she tried to lift it. It was heavy ; 
quite too heavy for the slender strength of a child, 
like Pandora. She raised one end of the box a few 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


45 


inches from the floor, and let it fall again, with a 
pretty loud thump. A moment afterwards, she 
almost fancied that she heard something stir inside 
of the box. She applied her ear as closely as pos- 
sible, and listened. Positively, there did seem to be 
a kind of stifled murmur, within ! Or was it merely 
the singing in Pandora’s ears ? Or could it be the 
beating of her heart? The child could not quite 
satisfy herself whether she had heard anything or no. 
But, at all events, her curiosity was stronger than 
ever. 

As she drew back her head, her eyes fell upon the 
knot of gold cord. 

It must have been a very ingenious person who 
tied this knot,” said Pandora to herself. “But I 
think I could untie it nevertheless. I am resolved, 
at least, to find the two ends of the cord.” 

So she took the golden knot in her fingers, and 
pried into its intricacies as sharply as she could. 
Almost without intending it, or quite knowing what 
she was about, she was soon busily engaged in at- 
tempting to undo it. Meanwhile, the bright sun- 
shine came through the open window ; as did like- 
wise the merry voices of the children, playing at a 
distance, and perhaps the voice of Epimetheus 
among them. Pandora stopped to listen. What a 
beautiful day it was ! Would it not be wiser, if she 


46 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


were to let the troublesome knot alone, and think 
no more about the box, but run and join her little 
playfellows, and be happy ? 

All this time, however, her fingers were half un- 
consciously busy with the knot ; and happening to 
glance at the flower- wreathed face on the lid of the 
enchanted box, she seemed to perceive it slyly grin- 
ning at her. 

^‘That face looks very mischievous,” thought Pan- 
dora. wonder whether it smiles because I am 
doing wrong ! I have the greatest mind in the world 
to run away ! ” 

But just then, by the merest accident, she gave 
the knot a kind of a twist, which produced a won- 
derful result. The gold cord untwined itself, as if 
by magic, and left the box without a fastening. 

This is the strangest thing I ever knew ! ” said 
Pandora. What will Epimetheus say ? And how 
can I possibly tie it up again ? ” 

She made one or two attempts to restore the knot, 
but soon found it quite beyond her skill. It had 
disentangled itself so suddenly that she could not 
in the least remember how the strings had been 
doubled into one another; and when she tried to 
recollect the shape and appearance of the knot, it 
seemed to have gone entirely out of her mind. 
Nothing was to be done, therefore, but to let the 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


47 


box remain as it was until Epimetheus should 
come in. 

“But,” said Pandora, “when he finds the knot 
untied, he will know that I have done it. How 
shall I make him believe that I have not looked 
into the box ? ” 

And then the thought came into her naughty 
little heart, that, since she would be suspected of 
having looked into the box, she might just as well 
do so at once. Oh, very naughty and very foolish 
Pandora ! You should have thought only of doing 
what was right, and of leaving undone what was 
wrong, and not of what your playfellow Epimetheus 
would have said or believed. And so perhaps she 
might, if the enchanted face on the lid of the box 
had not looked so bewitchingly persuasive at her, 
and if she had not seemed to hear, more distinctly 
than before, the murmur of small voices within. 
She could not tell whether it was fancy or no ; but 
there was quite a little tumult of whispers in her 
ear, — or else it was her curiosity that whispered, — 

“ Let us out, dear Pandora, — pray let us out ! 
We will be such nice pretty playfellows for you ! 
Only let us out ! ” 

“ What can it be ? ” thought Pandora. “ Is there 
something alive in the box? Well! — yes! — I am 
resolved to take just one peep ! Only one peep ; 


48 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


and then the lid shall be shut down as safely as 
ever ! There cannot possibly be any harm in just 
one little peep ! ” 


III. 

But it is now time for us to see what Epimetheus 
was doing. 

This was the first time, since his little playmate 
had come to dwell with him, that he had attempted 
to enjoy any pleasure in which she did not partake. 
But nothing went right ; nor was he nearly so happy 
as on other days. He could not find a sweet grape 
or a ripe fig (if Epimetheus had a fault, it was a 
little too much fondness for figs) ; or, if ripe at all, 
they were over-ripe, and so sweet as to be cloying. 
There was no mirth in his heart, such as usually 
made his voice gush out, of its own accord, and 
swell the merriment of his companions. In short, 
he grew so uneasy and discontented, that the other 
children could not imagine what was the matter 
with Epimetheus. Neither did he himself know 
what ailed him, any better than they did. For you 
must recollect that, at the time we are speaking of, 
it was everybody’s nature, and constant habit, to be 
happy. The world had not yet learned to be other- 
wise. Not a single soul or body, since these chil- 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


49 


dren were first sent to enjoy themselves on the 
beautiful earth, had ever been sick or out of sorts. 

At length, discovering that, somehow or other, he 
put a stop to all the play, Epimetheus judged it best 
to go back to Pandora, who was in a humor better 
suited to his own. But, with a hope of giving her 
pleasure, he gathered some flowers, and made them 
into a wreath, which he meant to put upon her head. 
The flowers were very lovely, — roses, and lilies, and 
orange-blossoms, and a great many more, which left 
a trail of fragrance behind, as Epimetheus carried 
them along ; and the wreath was put together with 
as much skill as could reasonably be expected of a 
boy. The fingers of little girls, it has always ap- 
peared to me, are the fittest to twine flower- wreaths ; 
but boys could do it, in those days, rather better 
than they can now. 

And here I must mention that a great black cloud 
had been gathering in the sky, for some time past, 
although it had not yet overspread the sun. But, 
just as Epimetheus reached the cottage door, this 
cloud began to intercept the sunshine, and thus to 
make a sudden and sad obscurity. 

He entered softly; for he meant, if possible, to 
steal behind Pandora, and fling the wreath of flowers 
over her head, before she should be aware of his ap- 
proach. But, as it happened, there was no need of 
4 


50 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


his treading so very lightly. He might have trod as 
heavily as he pleased, — as heavily as a grown man, 
— as heavily, I was going to say, as an elephant, — 
without much probability of Pandora’s hearing his 
footsteps. She was too intent upon her purpose. 
At the moment of his entering the cottage, the 
naughty child had put her hand to the lid, and was 
on the point of opening the mysterious box. Epime- 
theus beheld her. If he had cried out. Pandora 
would probably have withdrawn her hand, and the 
fatal mystery of the box might never have been 
known. 

But Epimetheus himself, although he said very 
little about it, had his own share of curiosity to 
know what was inside. Perceiving that Pandora 
was resolved to find out the secret, he determined 
that his playfellow should not be the only wise per- 
son in the cottage. And if there were anything 
pretty or valuable in the box, he meant to take half 
of it to himself. Thus, after all his sage speeches 
to Pandora about restraining her curiosity, Epime- 
theus turned out to be quite as foolish, and nearly 
as much in fault, as she. So, whenever we blame 
Pandora for what happened, we must not forget to 
shake our heads at Epimetheus likewise. 

As Pandora raised the lid, the cottage grew very 
dark and dismal ; for the black cloud had now 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


51 


swept quite over tlie sun, and seemed to have buried 
it alive. There had, for a little while past, been a 
low growling and muttering, which all at once broke 
into a heavy peal of thunder. But Pandora, heed- 
ing nothing of all this, lifted the lid nearly upright, 
and looked inside. It seemed as if a sudden swarm 
of winged creatures brushed past her, taking flight 
out of the box, while, at the same instant, she heard 
the voice of Epimetheus, with a lamentable tone, as 
if he were in pain. 

Oh, I am stung ! ” cried he. I am stung ! 
Naughty Pandora ! why have you opened this 
wicked box ? ” 

Pandora let fall the lid, and, starting up, looked 
about her, to see what had befallen Epimetheus, 
The thunder-cloud had so darkened the room that 
she could not very clearly discern what was in it. 
But she heard a disagreeable buzzing, as if a great 
many huge flies, or gigantic mosquitoes, or those in- 
sects which we call dor-bugs, and pinching-dogs. 
were darting about. And, as her eyes grew more 
accustomed to the imperfect light, she saw a crowd 
of ugly little shapes, with bats’ wings, looking 
abominably spiteful, and armed with terribly long 
stings in their tails. It was one of these that had 
stung Epimetheus. Nor was it a great while before 
Pandora herself began to scream, in no less pain and 


52 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


affright than her playfellow, and making a vast deal 
more hubbub about it. An odious little monster 
had settled on her forehead, and would have stung 
her I know not how deeply, if Epimetheus had not 
run and brushed it away. 

Now, if you wish to know what these ugly things 
might be, which had made their escape out of the 
box, I must tell you that they were the whole family 
of earthly Troubles. There were evil Passions ; 
there were a great many species of Cares; there 
were more than a hundred and fifty Sorrows ; there 
were Diseases, in a vast number of miserable and 
painful shapes; there were more kinds of Naughti- 
ness than it would be of any use to talk about. In 
short, everything that has since afflicted the souls 
and bodies of mankind had been shut up in the 
mysterious box, and given to Epimetheus and Pan- 
dora to be kept safely, in order that the happy chil- 
dren of the world might never be molested by them. 
Had they been faithful to their trust, all would have 
gone well. No grown person would ever have been 
sad, nor any child have had cause to shed a single 
tear, from that hour until this moment. 

But — and you may see by this how a wrong act of 
any one mortal is a calamity to the whole world — 
by Pandora’s lifting the lid of that miserable box, 
and by the fault of Epimetheus, too, in not prevent- 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


53 


ing her, these Troubles have obtained a foothold 
among us, and do not seem very likely to be driven 
aw^ay in a hurry. For it was impossible, as you will 
easily guess, that the two children should keep the 
ugly swarm in their own little cottage. On the con- 
trary, the first thing that they did was to fling open 
the doors and windows, in hopes of getting rid of 
them ; and, sure enough, away flew the winged 
Troubles all abroad, and so pestered and tormented 
the small people, everywhere about, that none of 
them so much as smiled for many days afterwards. 
And, what was very singular, all the flowers and 
dewy blossoms on earth, not one of which had hith- 
erto faded, now began to droop and shed their leaves, 
after a day or two. The children, moreover, who 
before seemed immortal in their childhood, now 
grew older, day by day, and came soon to be youths 
and maidens, and men and women by and by, and 
aged people, before they dreamed of such a thing. 

IV. 

Meanwhile, the naughty Pandora, and hardly less 
naughty Epimetheus, remained in their cottage. 
Both of them had been grievously stung, and were 
in a good deal of pain, which seemed the more in- 
tolerable to them, because it was the very first pain 


54 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


that had ever been felt since the world began. Of 
course, they were entirely unaccustomed to it, and 
could have no idea what it meant. Besides all this, 
they were in exceedingly bad humor, both with 
themselves and with one another. In order to in- 
dulge it to the utmost, Epimetheus sat down sul- 
lenly in a corner with his back towards Pandora ; 
while Pandora flung herself upon the floor and rested 
her head on the fatal and abominable box. She was 
ciying bitterly, and sobbing as if her heart would 
break. 

Suddenly there was a gentle little tap on the in- 
side of the lid. 

What can that be ? ” cried Pandora, lifting her 
head. 

But either Epimetheus had not heard the tap, or 
was too much out of humor to notice it. At any 
rate, he made no answer. 

“You are very unkind,” said Pandora, sobbing 
anew, “ not to speak to me ! ” 

Again the tap ! It sounded like the tiny knuckles 
of a fairy’s hand, knocking lightly and playfully on 
the inside of the box. 

“ Who are you ? ” asked Pandora, with a little of 
her former curiosity. “ Who are you, inside of this 
naughty box ? ” 

A sweet little voice spoke from within, — 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


55 


Only lift the lid, and you shall see.” 

“ No, no,” answered Pandora, again beginning to 
sob, have had enough of lifting the lid! You 
are inside of the box, naughty creature, and there 
you shall stay ! There are plenty of your ugly 
brothers and sisters already flying about the world. 
You need never think that I shall be so foolish as to 
let you out ! ” 

She looked towards Epimetheus, as she spoke, per- 
haps expecting that he woruld commend her for her 
wisdom. But the sullen boy only muttered that she 
was wise a little too late. 

^^Ah,” said the sweet little voice again, ^^you had 
much better let me out. I am not like those naughty 
creatures that have stings in their tails. They are 
no brothers and sisters of mine, as you would see at 
once, if you were only to get a glimpse of me. 
Come, come, my pretty Pandora ! I am sure you 
will let me out ! ” 

And, indeed, there was a kind of cheerful witchery 
in the tone, that made it almost impossible to refuse 
anything which this little voice asked. Pandora’s 
heart had insensibly grown lighter, at every word 
that came from within the box. Epimetheus, too, 
though still in the corner, had turned half round, 
and seemed to be in rather better spirits than 
before. 


56 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


^‘My dear Epimetlieus,” cried Pandora, ^^have you 
heard this little voice ? ” 

“Yes, to be sure I have,” answered he, but in no 
very good-humor as yet. “ And what of it ? ” 

“ Shall I lift the lid again ? ” asked Pandora. 

“Just as you please,” said Epimetheus. “You 
have done so much mischief already, that perhaps 
you may as well do a little more. One other Trou- 
ble, in such a swarm as you have set adrift about 
the world, can make no very great difference.” 

“You might speak a little more kindly! ’’mur- 
mured Pandora, wiping her eyes. 

“Ah, naughty boy ! ” cried the little voice within 
the box, in an arch and laughing tone. “ He knows 
he is longing to see me. Come, my dear Pandora, 
lift up the lid. I am in a great hurry to comfort you. 
Only let me have some fresh air, and you shall soon 
see that matters are not quite so dismal as you think 
them ! ” 

“ Epimetheus,” exclaimed Pandora, “ come what 
may, I am resolved to open the box ! ” 

“ And, as the lid seems very heavy,” cried Epime- 
theus, running across the room, “ I will help you ! ” 
So, with one consent, the two children again lifted 
the lid. Out flew a sunny and smiling little person- 
age, and hovered about the room, throwing a light 
wherever she went. Have you never made the sun- 


THE PARADISE OP CHILDREN. 


57 


shine dance into dark corners, by reflecting it from 
a bit of looking-glass? Well, so looked the winged 
cheerfulness of this fairy-like stranger, amid the 
gloom of the cottage. She flew to Epimetheus, and 
laid the least touch of her finger on the inflamed 
spot where the Trouble had stung him, and imme- 
diately the anguish of it was gone. Then she kissed 
Pandora on the forehead, and her hurt was cured 
likewise. 

After performing these good offices, the bright 
stranger fluttered sportively over the children’s heads, 
and looked so sweetly at them, that they both began 
to think it not so very much amiss to have opened 
the box, since, otherwise, their cheery guest must 
have been kept a prisoner among those naughty 
imps with stings in their tails. 

“ Pray, who are you, beautiful creature ?” inquired 
Pandora. 

I am to be called Hope ! ” answered the sunshiny 
figure. ^^And because I am such a cheery little 
body, I was packed into the box, to make amends 
to the human race for that swarm of ugly Troubles, 
which was destined to be let loose among them. 
Never fear ! we shall do pretty well in spite of 
them all.” 

Your wings are colored like the rainbow ! ” ex- 
claimed Pandora. How very beautiful ! ” 


68 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


‘^Yes, they are like the rainbow,” said Hope, 
because, glad as my nature is, I am partly made of 
tears as well as smiles.” 

And will you stay with us,” asked Epimetheus, 
forever and ever ? ” 

“ As long as you need me,” said Hope, with her 
pleasant smile, — “and that will be as long as you 
live in the world, — I promise never to desert you. 
There may come times and seasons, now and then, 
when you will think that I have . utterly vanished. 
But again, and again, and again, when perhaps you 
least dream of it, you shall see the glimmer of my 
wings on the ceiling of your cottage. Yes, my dear 
children, and I know something very good and 
beautiful that is to be given you hereafter ! ” 

“ Oh tell us,” they exclaimed, — “ tell us what it 
is ! ” 

“ Do not ask me,” replied Hope, putting her 
finger on her rosy mouth. “ But do not despair, 
even if it should never happen while you live on 
this earth. Trust in my promise, for it is true.” 

“We do trust you ! ” cried Epimetheus and Pan- 
dora, both in one breath. 

And so they did ; and not only they, but so has 
everybody trusted Hope, that has since been alive. 
And to tell you the truth, I cannot help being glad 
— (though, to be sure, it was an uncommonly 


THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN. 


59 


naughty thing for her to do) — but I cannot help 
being glad that our foolish Pandora peeped into the 
box. No doubt — no doubt — the Troubles are still 
flying about the world, and have increased in multi- 
tude, rather than lessened, and are a very ugly set 
of imps, and carry most venomous stings in their 
tails. I have felt them already, and expect to feel 
them more, as I grow older. But then that lovely 
and lightsome little figure of Hope ! What in the 
world could we do without her? Hope spiritual- 
izes the earth; Hope makes it always new; and, 
even in the earth’s best and brightest aspect, Hope 
shows it to be only the shadow of an infinite bliss 
hereafter ! 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES * 


1 . 

Did you ever hear of the golden apples, that grew 
in the garden of the Hesperides ? Ah, those were 
such apples as would bring a great price, by the 
bushel, if any of them could be found growing in 
the orchards of nowadays ! But there is not, I sup- 
pose, a graft of that wonderful fruit on a single tree 
in the wide world. Not so much as a seed of those 
apples exists any longer. 

And, even in the old, old, half-forgotten times, 
before the garden of the Hesperides was overrun 
with weeds, a great many people doubted whether 

* The Hesperides {'pron. hes-per'i-dez), in the Grecian mythology, 
were maiden daughters of Hesperis. They lived in a garden where 
they were guardians of the golden apples that Juno, queen of the 
gods, had entrusted to their care. They were assisted by a many- 
headed dragon. Hercules {pron. her'ku.-l6z) undertook to kill the 
dragon and bring away the apples. Also mentioned in this story 
are Mars {pron. marz), god of war ; Venus {pron. ve'nus), goddess of 
love ; Geryon {pron. j5'ri-on), a six-legged man-monster ; Hippolyta 
{pron. hip-pol'i-ta), queen of the Amazons ; Antaeus {pron. an-t6'us), 
a huge giant, and Atlas, another mighty giant who was condemned 
to bear the sky upon his head. 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


61 


there could be real trees that bore apples of solid 
gold upon their branches. All had heard of them, 
but nobody remembered to have seen any. Chil- 
dren, nevertheless, used to listen, open-mouthed, to 
stories of the golden apple-tree, and resolved to 
discover it, when they should be big enough. Ad- 
venturous young men, who desired to do a braver 
thing than any of their fellows, set out in quest of 
this fruit. Many of them returned no more ; none 
of them brought back the apples. No wonder that 
they found it impossible to gather them ! It is said 
that there was a dragon beneath the tree, with a 
hundred terrible heads, fifty of which were always 
on the watch, while the other fifty slept. 

In my opinion it was hardly worth running so 
much risk for the sake of a solid golden apple. Had 
the apples been sweet, mellow, and juicy, indeed 
that would be another matter. There might then 
have been some sense in trying to get at them, in 
spite of the hundred-headed dragon. 

But, as I have already told you, it was quite a com- 
mon thing with young persons, when tired of too 
much peace and rest, to go in search of the garden 
of the Hesperides. And once the adventure was 
undertaken by a hero who had enjoyed very little 
peace or rest since he came into the world. At the 
time of which I am going to speak, he was wander- 


62 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


ing through the pleasant land of Italy, with a 
mighty club in his hand, and a bow and quiver 
slung across his shoulders. He was wrapt in the 
skin of the biggest and fiercest lion that ever had 
been seen, and which he himself had killed; and 
though, on the whole, he was kind, and generous, 
and noble, there was a good deal of the lion’s fierce- 
ness in his heart. As he went on his way, he con- 
tinually inquired whether that were the right road 
to the famous garden. But none of the country 
people knew anything about the matter, and many 
looked as if they would have laughed at the ques- 
tion, if the stranger had not carried so very big a 
club. 

So he Journeyed on and on, still making the same 
inquiry, until, at last, he came to the brink of a 
river where some beautiful young women sat twin- 
ing wreaths of flowers. 

^‘Can you tell me, pretty maidens,” asked the 
stranger, whether this is the right way to the 
garden of the Hesperides ? ” 

The young women had been having a fine time 
together, weaving the flowers into wreaths, and 
crowning one another’s heads. And there seemed 
to be a kind of magic in the touch of their fingers, 
that made the flowers more fresh and dewy, and of 
brighter hues, and sweeter fragrance, while they 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


63 


played with them, than even when they had been 
growing on their native stems. But, on hearing the 
stranger’s question, they dropped all their flowers 
on the grass, and gazed at him with astonishment. 

The garden of the Hesperides ! ” cried one. 
“We thought mortals had been weary of seeking it, 
after so many disappointments. And pray, adven- 
turous traveller, what do you want there ? ” 

“A certain king, who is my cousin,” replied he, 
“has ordered me to get him three of the golden 
apples.” 

“ Most of the young men who go in quest of these 
apples,” observed another of the damsels, “ desire to 
obtain them for themselves, or to present them to 
some fair maiden whom they love. Do you, then, 
love this king, your cousin, so very much ? ” 

“ Perhaps not,” replied the stranger, sighing. 
“ He has often been severe and cruel to me. But it 
is my destiny to obey him.” 

“ And do you know,” asked the damsel who had 
first spoken, “ that a terrible dragon, with a hundred 
heads, keeps watch under the golden apple-tree ? ” 

“ I know it well,” answered the stranger, calmly. 
“But, from my cradle upwards, it has been my 
business, and almost my pastime, to deal with 
serpents and dragons.” 

The young women looked at his massive club, and 


64 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


at the shaggy lion’s skin which he wore, and like- 
wise at his heroic limbs and figure ; and they whis- 
pered to each other that the stranger appeared to be 
one who might reasonably expect to perform deeds 
far beyond the might of other men. But, then, the 
dragon with a hundred heads ! What mortal, even 
if he possessed a hundred lives, could hope to 
escape the fangs of such a monster? So kind- 
hearted were the maidens, that they could not bear 
to see this brave and handsome traveller attempt 
what was so very dangerous, and devote himself, 
most probably, to become a meal for the dragon’s 
hundred ravenous mouths. 

Go back,” cried they all, — go back to your own 
home ! Your mother, beholding you safe and sound, 
will shed tears of joy ; and what can she do more, 
should you win ever so great a victory ? No matter 
for the golden apples ! No matter for the king, 
your cruel cousin ! We do not wish the dragon 
with the hundred heads to eat you up ! ” 

The stranger seemed to grow impatient at these 
remonstrances. He carelessly lifted his mighty club, 
and let it fall upon a rock that lay half buried in the 
earth, near by. With the force of that idle blow, 
the great rock was shattered all to pieces. It 
cost the ‘stranger no more effort to achieve this 
feat of a giant’s strength than for one of the 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


65 


young maidens to toucli her sister’s rosy cheek 
with a hower. 

“Do you not believe,” said he, looking at the 
damsels with a smile, “ that such a blow would have 
crashed one of the dragon’s hundred heads ? ” 

Then he sat down on the grass, and told them the 
story of his life, or as much of it as he could remem- 
ber, from the day when he was first cradled in a 
warrior’s brazen shield. While he lay there, two 
immense serpents came gliding over the floor, and 
opened their hideous jaws to devour him ; and he, a 
baby of a few months old, had griped one of the 
fierce snakes in each of his little fists, and strangled 
them to death. When he was but a stripling, he 
had killed a huge lion, almost as big as the one 
whose vast and shaggy hide he now wore upon his 
shoulders. The next thing that he had done was to 
fight a battle with an ugly sort of monster, called 
a hydra, which had no less than nine heads, and 
exceedingly sharp teeth in every one. 

“ But the dragon of the Hesperides, you know,” 
observed one of the damsels, “has a hundred 
heads!” 

“Nevertheless,” replied the stranger, “I would 
rather fight two such dragons than a single hydra. 
For, as fast as I cut off a head, two others grew in 
its place ; and, besides, there was one of the heads 
5 


66 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


that could not possibly be killed, but kept biting as 
fiercely as ever, long after it was cut off. So I was 
forced to bury it under a stone, where it is doubtless 
alive to this very day. But the hydra’s body, and 
its eight other heads, will never do any further 
mischief.” 

The damsels, judging that the story was likely to 
last a good while, had been preparing a repast of 
bread and grapes, that the stranger might refresh 
himself in the intervals of his talk. They took 
pleasure in helping him to this simple food; and, 
now and then, one of them would put a sweet 
grape between her rosy lips, lest it should make 
him bashful to eat alone. 


II. 

The traveller proceeded to tell how he had chased 
a very swift stag, for a twelvemonth together, with- 
out ever stopping to take breath, and had at last 
caught it by the antlers, and carried it home alive. 
And he had fought with a very odd race of people, 
half horses and half men, and had put them all to 
death, from a sense of duty, in order that their ugly 
figures might never be seen any more. Besides all 
this, he took to himself great credit for having 
cleaned out a stable. 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


67 


Do you call tliat a wonderful exploit ? ” asked 
one of the young maidens, with a smile. “Any 
clown in the country has done as much ! ” 

“Had it been an ordinary stable,” replied the 
stranger, “ I should not have mentioned it. But this 
was so gigantic a task that it would have taken me 
all my life to perform it, if I had not luckily thought 
of turning the channel of a river through the stable- 
door. That did the business in a very short time ! ” 
Seeing how earnestly his fair auditors listened, he 
next told them how he had shot some monstrous 
birds, and had caught a wild bull alive and let him 
go again, and had tamed a number of very wild 
horses, and had conquered Hippolyta, the warlike 
queen of the Amazons. He mentioned, likewise, 
that he had taken off Hippolyta’s enchanted girdle, 
and had given it to the daughter of his cousin, the 
king. 

“Was it the girdle of Venus,” inquired the 
prettiest of the damsels, “ which makes women 
beautiful ? ” 

“ No,” answered the stranger. “ It had formerly 
been the sword-belt of Mars ; and it can only make 
the wearer valiant and courageous.” 

“ An old sword-belt ! ” cried the damsel, tossing 
her head. “Then I should not care about having it ! ” 
“You are right,” said the stranger. 


68 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


Going on with his wonderful narrative, he in- 
formed the maidens that as strange an adventure as 
ever happened was when he fought with Geiyon, 
the six-legged man. This was a very odd and 
frightful sold of figure, as you may well believe. 
Any person, looking at his tracks in the sand or 
snow, would suppose that three sociable companions 
had been walking along together. On hearing his 
footsteps at a little distance, it was no more than 
reasonable to judge that several people must be 
coming. But it was only the strange man Geryon 
clattering onward, with his six legs ! 

Six legs, and one gigantic body ! Certainly, he 
must have been a very queer monster to look at; 
and, my stars, what a waste of shoe-leather ! 

When the stranger had finished the story of his 
adventures, he looked around at the attentive faces 
of the maidens. 

Perhaps you may have heard of me before,” said 
he, modestly. My name is Hercules ! ” 

‘‘We had already guessed it,” replied the maid- 
ens ; “ for your wonderful deeds are known all over 
the world. We do not think it strange, any longer, 
that you should set out in quest of the golden apples 
of the Hesperides. Come, sisters, let us crown the 
hero with fiowers ! ” 

Then they flung beautiful wreaths over his stately 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


69 


head and mighty shoulders, so that the lion’s skin 
was almost entirely covered with roses. They took 
possession of his ponderous club, and so entwined it 
about with the brightest, softest, and most fragrant 
blossoms, that not a finger’s breadth of its oaken 
substance could be seen. It looked all like a huge 
bunch of fiowers. Lastly, they joined hands, and 
danced around him, chanting words which became 
poetry of their own accord, and grew into a choral 
song, in honor of the illustrious Hercules. 

And Hercules was rejoiced, as any other hero 
would have been, to know that these fair young girls 
had heard of the valiant deeds which it had cost 
him so much toil and danger to achieve. But, still, 
he was not satisfied. He could not think that what 
he had already done. was worthy of so much honor, 
while there remained any bold or difficult adventure 
to be undertaken. 

^^Dear maidens,” said he, when they paused to 
take breath, ^^now that you know my name, will 
you not tell me how I am to reach the garden of the 
Hesperides ? ” 

Ah ! must you go so soon ? ” they exclaimed. 

You — that have performed so many wonders, and 
spent such a toilsome life — cannot you content your- 
self to repose a little while on the margin of this 
peaceful river ? ” 


70 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


Hercules shook his head. 

“ I must depart now,” said he. 

^^We will then give you the best directions we 
can,” replied the damsels. “You must go to the sea- 
shore, and find out the Old One, and compel him to 
inform you where the golden apples are to be 
found.” 

“ The Old One ! ” repeated Hercules, laughing at 
this odd name. “ And, pray, who may the Old One 
be?” 

“ Why, the Old Man of the Sea, to be sure ! ” an- 
swered one of the damsels. “ He has fifty daughters, 
whom some people call very beautiful ; but we do 
not think it proper to be acquainted with them, be. 
cause they have sea-green hair, and taper away like 
fishes. You must talk with this Old Man of the 
Sea. He is a sea-faring person, and knows all about 
the garden of the Hesperides ; for it is situated in 
an island which he is often in the habit of visiting.” 

Hercules then asked whereabouts the Old One 
was most likely to be met with. When the damsels 
had informed him, he thanked them for all their 
kindness, — for the bread and grapes with which 
they had fed him, the lovely flowers with which 
they had crowned him, and the songs and dances 
wherewith they had done him honor, — and he 
thanked them, most of all, for telling him the 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


71 


right way, — and immediately set forth upon his 
journey. 

But, before he was out of hearing, one of the 
maidens called after him. 

“ Keep fast hold of the Old One, when you catch 
him ! ” cried she, smiling, and lifting her finger to 
make the caution more impressive. Do not be as- 
tonished at anything that may happen. Only hold 
him fast, and he will tell you what you wish to 
know.” 

Hercules again thanked her, and pursued his way^ 
while the maidens resumed their pleasant labor of 
making flower- wreaths. They talked about the hero, 
long after he was gone. 

‘^We will crown him with the loveliest of our 
garlands,” said they, when he returns hither with 
the three golden apples, after slaying the dragon 
with a hundred heads.” 

Meanwhile, Hercules travelled constantly onward, 
over hill and dale, and through the solitary woods. 
Sometimes he swung his club aloft, and splintered a 
mighty oak with a downright blow. His mind was 
so full of the giants and monsters with whom it was 
the business of his life to fight, that perhaps he mis- 
took the great tree for a giant or a monster. And 
so eager was Hercules to achieve what he had under- 
taken, that he almost regretted to have spent so 


72 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


inucli time witli the damsels, wasting idle breath 
upon the story of his adventures. But thus it always 
is with persons who are destined to perform great 
things. What they have already done seems less 
than nothing. What they have taken in hand to do 
seems worth toil, danger, and life itself. 

Persons who happened to be passing through the 
forest must have been affrighted to see him smite 
the trees with his great club. With but a single 
blow, the trunk was riven as by the stroke of light- 
ning, and the broad boughs came rustling and crash- 
ing down. 

Hastening forward, without ever pausing or look- 
ing behind, he by and by heard the sea roaring at a 
distance. At this sound, he increased his speed, and 
soon came to a beach, where the great surf-waves 
tumbled themselves upon the hard sand, in a long 
line of snowy foam. At one end of the beach, how- 
ever, there was a pleasant spot, where some green 
shrubbery clambered up a cliff, making its rocky 
face look soft and beautiful. A carpet of verdant 
grass, largely intermixed with sweet-smelling clover, 
covered the narrow space between the bottom of the 
cliff and the sea. And what should Hercules espy 
there, but an old man, fast asleep ! 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


73 


III. 

But was it really and truly an old man? Cer- 
tainly, at first sight, it looked very like one ; but, on 
closer inspection, it rather seemed to be some kind 
of a creature that lived in the sea. For, on his legs 
and arms there were scales, such as fishes have ; he 
was web-footed and web-fingered, after the fashion 
of a duck ; and his long beard, being of a greenish 
tinge, had more the appearance of a tuft of sea- weed 
than of an ordinary beard. Have you never seen a 
stick of timber, that has been long tossed about by 
the waves, and has got all overgrown with barnacles, 
and, at last drifting ashore, seems to have been 
thrown up from the very deepest bottom of the sea ? 
Well, the old man would have put you in mind of 
just such a wave-tost spar ! But Hercules, the in- 
stant he set eyes on this strange figure, was convinced 
that it could be no other than the Old One, who was 
to direct him on his way. 

Yes, it was the selfsame Old Man of the Sea whom 
the hospitable maidens had talked to him about. 
Thanking his stars for the lucky accident of finding 
the old fellow asleep, Hercules stole on tiptoe to- 
wards him, and caught him by the arm and leg. 

Tell me,” cried he, before the Old One was well 


74 THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 

awake, whicli is the way to the garden of tke Hes- 
perides ? ” 

As you may easily imagine, the Old Man of the 
Sea awoke in a fright. But his astonishment could 
hardly have been greater than was that of Hercules, 
the next moment. For, all of a sudden, the Old One 
seemed to disappear out of his grasp, and he found 
himself holding a stag by the fore and hind leg ! 
But still he kept fast hold. Then the stag disap- 
peared, and in its stead there was a sea-bird, flutter- 
ing and screaming, while Hercules clutched it by the 
wing and claw ! But the bird could not get away. 
Immediately afterwards, there was an ugly three- 
headed dog, which growled and barked at Hercules, 
and snapped flercely at the hands by which he held 
him ! But Hercules would not let him go. In an- 
other minute, instead of the three-headed dog, what 
should appear but Geryon, the six-legged man-mon- 
ster, kicking at Hercules with flve of his legs, in 
order to get the remaining one at liberty ! But 
Hercules held on. By and by, no Geryon was 
there, but a huge snake, like one of those which 
Hercules had strangled in his babyhood, only a 
hundred times as big ; and it ^twisted and twined 
about the hero’s neck and body, and threw its tail 
high into the air, and opened its deadly jaws as if to 
devour him outright ; so that it was really a very 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


75 


terrible spectacle ! But Hercules was no whit dis- 
heartened, and squeezed the great snake so tightly 
that he soon began to hiss with pain. 

You must understand that the Old Man of the 
Sea, though he generally looked so much like the 
wave-beaten figure-head of a vessel, had the power 
of assuming any shape he pleased. When he found 
himself so roughly seized by Hercules, he had been 
in hopes of putting him into such surprise and ter- 
ror, by these magical transformations, that the hero 
would be glad to let him go. If Hercules had 
relaxed his grasp, the Old One would certainly have 
plunged down to the very bottom of the sea, whence 
he would not soon have given himself the trouble of 
coming up, in order to answer any impertinent ques- 
tions. Ninety-nine people out of a hundred, I sup- 
pose, would have been frightened out of their wits 
by the very first of his ugly shapes, and would 
have taken to their heels at once. For, one of 
the hardest things in this world is, to see the 
difference between real dangers and imaginary 
ones. 

But, as Hercules held on so stubbornly, and only 
squeezed the Old One so much the tighter at every 
change of shape, and really put him to no small tor- 
ture, he finally thought it best to reappear in his 
own figure. So there he was again, a fishy, scaly, 


76 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


web-footed sort of personage, with something like a 
tuft of sea- weed at his chin. 

Pray, what do you want with me ? ” cried the 
Old One, as soon as he could take breath ; for it is 
quite a tiresome alfair to go through so many false 
shapes. Why do you squeeze me so hard ? Let 
me go, this moment, or I shall begin to consider you 
an extremely uncivil person ! ” 

My name is Hercules ! ” roared the mighty 
stranger. “And you will never get out of my 
clutch, until you tell me the nearest way to the 
■garden of the Hesperides ! ” 

When the old fellow heard who it was that had 
caught him, he saw, with half an eye, that it would 
be necessary to tell him everything that he wanted 
to know. The Old One was an inhabitant of the 
sea, you must recollect, and roamed about every- 
where, like other sea-faring people. Of course, he 
had often heard of the fame of Hercules, and of the 
wonderful things that he was constantly perform- 
ing, in various parts of the earth, and how deter- 
mined he always was to accomplish whatever he 
undertook. He therefore made no more attempts to 
escape, but told the hero how to find the garden of 
the Hesperides, and likewise warned him of many 
difficulties which must be overcome, before he could 
arrive thither. 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


77 


“ You must go on, thus and thus,” said the Old 
Man of the Sea, after taking the points of the com- 
pass, till you come in sight of a very tall giant, who 
holds the sky on his shoulders. And the giant, if 
he happens to be in the humor, will tell you exactly 
where the garden of the Hesperides lies.” 

“ And if the giant happens not to be in the hu- 
mor,” remarked Hercules, balancing his club on the 
tip of his finger, “ perhaps I shall find means to per- 
suade him ! ” 

Thanking the Old Man of the Sea, and begging 
his pardon for having squeezed him so roughly, the 
hero resumed his Journey. He met with a great 
many strange adventures, which would be well 
worth your hearing, if I had leisure to narrate them 
as minutely as they deserve. 

It was in this journey, if I mistake not, that he 
encountered a prodigious giant, who was so wonder- 
fully contrived by nature, that, every time he touched 
the earth, he became ten times as strong as ever he 
had been before. His name was Antaeus. You may 
see, plainly enough, that it was a very difiicult busi- 
ness to fight with such a fellow ; for, as often as 
he got a knock-down blow, up he started again, 
stronger, fiercer, and abler to use his weapons, than 
if his enemy had let him alone. Thus, the harder 
Hercules pounded the giant with his club, the 


78 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


further he seemed from winning the victory. I 
have sometimes argued with such people, but never 
fought with one. The only way in which Hercules 
found it possible to finish the battle, was by lifting 
Antaeus off his feet into the air, and squeezing, and 
squeezing, and squeezing him, until, finally, the 
strength was quite squeezed out of his enormous 
body. 

When this affair was finished, Hercules continued 
his travels, and went to the land of Egypt, where 
he was taken prisoner, and would have been put to 
death, if he had not slain the king of the country, 
and made his escape. Passing through the deserts 
of Africa, and going as fast as he could, he arrived 
at last on the shore of the great ocean. And here, 
unless he could walk on the crests of the billows, it 
seemed as if his journey must needs be at an end. 

Nothing was before him, save the foaming, dash- 
ing, measureless ocean. But, suddenly, as he looked 
towards the horizon, he saw something, a great way 
off, which he had not seen the moment before. It 
gleamed very brightly, almost as you may have be- 
held the round, golden disk of the sun, when it rises 
or sets over the edge of the world. It evidently 
drew nearer ; for, at every instant, this wonderful 
object became larger and more lustrous. At length, 
it had come so nigh that Hercules discovered it to 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


79 


be an immense cup or bowl, made either of gold or 
burnished brass. How it had got afloat upon the 
sea is more than I can tell you. There it was, at all 
events, rolling on the tumultuous billows, which 
tossed it up and down, and heaved their foamy tops 
against its sides, but without ever throwing their 
spray over the brim. 

I have seen many giants, in my time,” thought 
Hercules, but never one that would need to drink 
his wine out of a cup like this ! ” 

And, true enough, what a cup it must have been ! 
It was as large — as large — but, in short, I am afraid 
to say how immeasurably large it was. To speak 
within bounds, it was ten times larger than a great 
mill-wheel ; and, all of metal as it was, it floated over 
the heaving surges more lightly than an acorn-cup 
adown the brook. The waves tumbled it onward, 
until it grazed against the shore, within a short dis- 
tance of the spot where Hercules was standing. 

IV. 

As soon as this happened, he knew what was to 
be done ; for he had hot gone through so many re- 
markable adventures without learning pretty well 
how to conduct himself, whenever anything came to 
pass a little out of the common rule. It was just as 


80 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


clear as daylight that this marvellous cup had been 
set adrift by some unseen power, and guided hither- 
ward, in order to carry Hercules across the sea, on his 
way to the garden of the Hesperides. Accordingly, 
without a moment’s delay, he clambered over the 
brim, and slid down on the inside, where, spreading 
out his lion’s skin, he proceeded to take a little 
repose. He had scarcely rested, until now, since he 
bade farewell to the damsels on the margin of the 
river. The waves dashed, with a pleasant and ring- 
ing sound, against the circumference of the hollow 
cup ; it rocked lightly to and fro, and the motion 
was so soothing that it speedily rocked Hercules 
into an agreeable slumber. 

His nap had probably lasted a good while, when 
^ the cup chanced to graze against a rock, and, in con- 
sequence, immediately resounded and reverberated 
through its golden or brazen substance, a hundred 
times as loudly as ever you heard a church -bell. 
The noise awoke Hercules, who instantly started up 
and gazed around him, wondering whereabouts he 
was. He was not long in discovering that the cup 
had floated across a great part of the sea, and was 
approaching the shore of what seemed to be an 
island. And, on that island, what do you think he 
saw ? 

No ; you will never guess it, not if you were to 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


81 


try fifty thousand times ! It positively appears to 
me that this was the most marvellous spectacle that 
had ever been seen by Hercules, in the whole course 
of his wonderful travels and adventures. It was a 
greater marvel than the hydra with nine heads, 
which kept growing twice as fast as they were cut 
off ; greater than the six-legged man-monster ; greater 
than Antaeus ; greater than anything that was ever 
beheld by anybody, before or since the days of 
Hercules, or than anything that remains to be be- 
held, by travellers in all time to come. It was a 
giant ! 

But such an intolerably big giant ! A giant as 
tall as a mountain; so vast a giant, that the clouds 
rested about his midst, like a girdle, and hung like 
a hoary beard from his chin, and flitted before his 
huge eyes, so that he could neither see Hercules nor 
the golden cup in which he was voyaging. And, 
most wonderful of all, the giant held up his great 
hands and appeared to support the sky, which, so 
far as Hercules could discern through the clouds, 
was resting upon his head ! This does really seem 
almost too much to believe. 

Meanwhile, the bright cup continued to float on- 
ward, and finally touched the strand. Just then a 
breeze wafted away the clouds from before the 
giant’s visage, and Hercules beheld it, with all its 


82 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


enormous features ; eyes each of them as big as yon- 
der lake, a nose a mile long, and a mouth of the 
same width. It was a countenance terrible from its 
enormity of size, but disconsolate and weary, even 
as you may see the faces of many people, nowadays, 
who are compelled to sustain burdens above their 
strength. What the sky was to the giant, such are 
the cares of earth to those who let themselves be 
weighed down by them. And whenever men under- 
take what is beyond the just measure of their abili- 
ties, they encounter precisely such a doom as had 
befallen this poor giant. 

Poor fellow ! He had evidently stood there a 
long while. An ancient forest had been growing 
and decaying around his feet; and oak-trees, of six 
or seven centuries old, had sprung from* the acorn, 
and forced themselves between his toes. 

The giant now looked down from the far height 
of his great eyes, and, perceiving Hercules, roared out, 
in a voice that resembled thunder, proceeding out 
of the cloud that had just flitted away from his face. 

Who are you, down at my feet there ? And 
whence do you come, in that little cup ? ” 

I am Hercules ! ” thundered back the hero, in a 
voice pretty nearly or quite as loud as the giant’s 
own. ^‘And I am seeking for the garden of the 
Hesperides ! ” 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


83 


Ho ! ho ! ho ! ” roared the giant, in a fit of im- 
mense laughter. That is a wise adventure, truly ! ” 
And why not ? ” cried Hercules, getting a little 
angry at the giant’s mirth. Do you think I am 
afraid of the dragon with a hundred heads ? ” 

Just at this time, while they were talking to- 
gether, some black clouds gathered about the giant’s 
middle, and burst into a tremendous storm of thun- 
der and lightning, causing such a pother that Hercu- 
les found it impossible to distinguish a word. Only 
the giant’s immeasurable legs were to be seen, stand- 
ing up into the obscurity of the tempest ; and, now 
and then, a momentary glimpse of his whole figure, 
mantled in a volume of mist. He seemed to be 
speaking, most of the time ; but his big, deep, rough 
voice chimed in with the reverberations of the thun- 
der-claps, and rolled away over the hills, like them. 
Thus, by talking out of season, the ’foolish giant 
expended an incalculable quantity of breath, to no 
purpose ; for the thunder spoke quite as intelligibly 
as he. 

At last, the storm swept over, as suddenly as it 
had come. And there again was the clear sky, and 
the weary giant holding it up, and the pleasant sun- 
shine beaming over his vast height, and illuminating 
it against the background of the sullen thunder- 
clouds. So far above the shower had been his head, 


84 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


that not a hair of it was moistened by the rain- 
drops ! 

When the giant could see Hercules still standing 
on the sea-shore, he roared out to him anew. 

I am Atlas, the mightiest giant in the world ! 
And I hold the sky upon my head ! 

So I see,” answered Hercules. But, can you 
show me the way to the garden of the Hesperides?” 

What do you want there ? ” asked the giant. 

I want three of the golden apples,” shouted Her- 
cules, “for my cousin, the king.” 

“ There is nobody but myself,” quoth the giant, 
“ that can go to the garden of the Hesperides, and 
gather the golden apples. If it were not for this 
little business of holding up the sky, I would make 
half a dozen steps across tbe sea, and get them for 
yon.” 

“You are very kind,” replied Hercules. “And 
cannot you rest the sky upon a mountain ? ” 

“None of them are quite high enough,” said Atlas, 
shaking his head. “ But, if you were to take your 
stand on the summit of that nearest one, your head 
would be pretty nearly on a level with mine. You 
seem to be a fellow of some strength. What if you 
should take my burden on your shoulders, while I 
do your errand for you ? ” 

Hercules, as you must be careful to remember. 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


85 


was a remarkably strong man; and tbough it cer- 
tainly requires a great deal of muscular power to 
uphold the sky, yet, if any mortal could be supposed 
capable of such an exploit, he was the one. Never- 
theless, it seemed so difficult an undertaking, that, 
for the first time in his life, he hesitated. 

“ Is the sky very heavy ? ” he inquired. 

‘‘ Why, not particularly so, at first,” answered the 
giant, shrugging his shoulders. But it gets to be 
a little burdensome, after a thousand years ! ” 

And how long a time,” asked the hero, “ will it 
take you to get the golden apples ? ” 

“ Oh ! that will be done in a few moments,” cried 
Atlas. “ I shall take ten or fifteen miles at a stride, 
and be at the garden and back again before your 
shoulders begin to ache.” 

“Well, then,” answered Hercules, “I will climb 
the mountain behind you there, and relieve you of 
your burden.” 

The truth is, Hercules had a kind heart of his 
own, and considered that he should be doing the 
giant a favor, by allowing him this opportunity for 
a ramble. And, besides, he thought that it would 
be still more for his own glory, if he could boast of 
upholding the sky, than merely to do so ordinary a 
thing as to conquer a dragon with a hundred beads. 
Accordingly, without more words, the sky was 


86 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


shifted from the shoulders of Atlas, and placed 
upon those of Hercules. 


V. 

When this was safely accomplished, the first thing 
that the giant did was to stretch himself ; and you 
may imagine what a prodigious spectacle he was 
then. Next, he slowly lifted one of his feet out of 
the forest that had grown up around it ; then, the 
other. Then, all at once, he began to caper, and 
leap, and dance, for joy at his freedom ; fiinging 
himself nobody knows how high into the air, and 
floundering down again with a shock that made the 
earth tremble. Then he laughed — Ho ! ho ! ho ! — 
with a thunderous roar that was echoed from the 
mountains, far and near, as if they and the giant had 
been so many rejoicing brothers. When his joy had 
a little subsided, he stepped into the sea ; ten miles 
at the first stride, which brought him midleg deep ; 
and ten miles at the second, when the water came 
just above his knees; and ten miles more at the 
third, by which he was immersed nearly to his 
waist. This was the greatest depth of the sea. 

Hercules watched the giant, as he still went on- 
ward ; for it was really a wonderful sight, this 
immense human form, more than thirty miles otf. 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


87 


half hidden in the ocean, but with his upper half as 
tall, and misty, and blue, as a distant mountain. 
At last the gigantic shape faded entirely out of 
view. And now Hercules began to consider what 
he should do, in case Atlas should be drowned in 
the sea, or if he were to be stung to death by the 
dragon with the hundred heads, which guarded the 
golden apples of the Hesperides. If any such mis- 
fortune were to happen, how could he ever get rid 
of the sky? And, by the by, its weight began 
already to be a little irksome to his head and 
shoulders. 

really pity the poor giant,” thought Hercules. 

If it wearies me so much in ten minutes, how must 
it have wearied him in a thousand years ? ” 

O my sweet little people, you have no idea what 
a weight there was in that same blue sky, which 
looks so soft and aerial above our heads ! And 
there, too, was the bluster of the wind, and the chill 
and watery clouds, and the blazing sun, all taking 
their turns to make Hercules uncomfortable ! He 
began to be afraid that the giant would never come 
back. He gazed wistfully at the world beneath 
him, and acknowledged to himself that it was a far 
happier kind of life to be a shepherd at the foot of 
a mountain, than to stand on its dizzy summit, and 
bear up the firmament with his might and main. 


88 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


For, of course, as you will easily understand, 
Hercules liad an immense responsibility on his 
mind, as well as a weight on his head and shoul- 
ders. Why, if he did not stand perfectly still, and 
keep the sky immovable, the sun would perhaps be 
put ajar ! Or, after nightfall, a great many of the 
stars might be loosened from their places, and 
shower down, like fiery rain, upon the people’s 
heads ! And how ashamed would the hero be, if, 
owing to his unsteadiness beneath its weight, the 
sky should crack, and show a great fissure quite 
across it ! 

I know not how long it was before, to his unspeak- 
able joy, he beheld the huge shape of the giant, like 
a cloud, on the far-off edge of the sea. At his 
nearer approach. Atlas held up his hand, in which 
Hercules could perceive three magnificent golden 
apples, as big as pumpkins, all hanging from one 
branch. 

“ I am glad to see you again,” shouted Hercules, 
when the giant was within hearing. So you have 
got the golden apples ? ” 

Certainly, certainly,” answered Atlas ; “ and very 
fair apples they are. I took the finest that grew on 
the tree, I assure you. Ah ! it is a beautiful spot, 
that garden of the Hesperides. Yes ; and the dragon 
with a hundred heads is a sight worth any man’s 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


89 


seeing. After all, you had better have gone for the 
apples yourself.” 

‘‘ No matter,” replied Hercules. “You have had 
a pleasant ramble, and have done the business as 
well as I could. I heartily thank you for your 
trouble. And now, as I have a long way to go, and 
am rather in haste, — and as the king, my cousin, is 
anxious to receive the golden apples, — will you be 
kind enough to take the sky olf my shoulders 
again ? ” 

“Why, as to that,” said the giant, chucking the 
golden apples into the air twenty miles high, or 
thereabouts, and catching them as they came down, — 
“ as to that, my good friend, I consider you a little 
• unreasonable. Cannot I carry the golden apples to 
the king, your cousin, much quicker than you could ? 
As his majesty is in such a hurry to get them, 
I promise you to take my longest strides. And, 
besides, I have no fancy for burdening myself with 
the sky, just now.” 

Here Hercules grew impatient, and gave a great 
shrug of his shoulders. It being now twilight, you 
might have seen two or three stars tumble out of 
their places. Everybody on earth looked upward 
in affright, thinking that the sky might be going to 
fall next. 

“ Oh, that will never do ! ” cried Giant Atlas, with 


90 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


a great roar of laughter. have not let fall so 
many stars within the last five centuries. By the 
time you have stood there as long as I did, you will 
begin to learn patience ! ” 

“ What ! shouted Hercules, very wrathfully, 

" do you intend to make me bear this burden for- 
ever ? ” 

“We will see about that, one of these days,” an- 
swered the giant. “At all events, you ought not 
to complain, if you have to bear it the next hundred 
years, or perhaps the next thousand. I bore it a 
good while longer, in spite of the back-ache. Well, 
then, after a thousand years, if I happen to feel in 
the mood, we may possibly shift about again. You 
are certainly a very strong man, and can never have « 
a better opportunity to prove it. Posterity will 
talk of you, I warrant it ! ” 

“ Pish ! a fig for its talk ! ” cried Hercules, with 
another hitch of his shoulders. “ Just take the sky 
upon your head one instant, will you ? I want to 
make a cushion of my lion’s skin, for the weight to 
rest upon. It really chafes me, and will cause un- 
necessary inconvenience in so many centuries as I 
am to stand here.” 

“ That’s no more than fair, and I’ll do it ! ” quoth 
the giant; for he had no unkind feeling towards 
Hercules, and was merely acting with a too selfish 


THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES. 


91 


consideration of liis own ease. ^^For just five min- 
utes, then, I’ll take back the sky. Only for five 
minutes, recollect ! I have no idea of spending an- 
other thousand years as I spent the last. Variety is 
the spice of life, say I.” 

Ah, the thick-witted old rogue of a giant ! He 
threw down the golden apples, and received back 
the sky, from the head and shoulders of Hercules, 
upon his own, where it rightly belonged. And 
Hercules picked up the three golden apples, that 
were as big or bigger than pumpkins, and straight- 
way set out on his journey homeward, without pay- 
ing the slightest heed to the thundering tones of the 
giant, who bellowed after him to come back. An- 
other forest sprang up around his feet, and grew 
ancient there ; and again might be seen oak-trees, of 
six or seven centuries old, that had waxed thus aged 
betwixt his enormous toes. 

And there stands the giant to this day ; or, at 
any rate, there stands a mountain as tall as he, and 
which bears his name ; and when the thunder rum- 
bles about its summit, we may imagine it to be the 
voice of Giant Atlas, bellowing after Hercules ! 


THE MIEACULOUS PITCHER* 

I. 

One evening, in times long ago, old Philemon 
and his old wife Baucis sat at their cottage-door, 
enjoying the calm and beautiful sunset. They had 
already eaten their frugal supper, and intended now 
to spend a quiet hour or two before bedtime. So 
they talked together about their garden, and their 
cow, and their bees, and their grapevine, which 
clambered over the cottage-wall, and on which the 
grapes were beginning to turn purple. But the 
rude shouts of children, and the fierce barking of 
dogs, in the village near at hand, grew louder and 
louder, until, at last, it was hardly possible for 
Baucis and Philemon to hear each other speak. 

‘^Ah, wife,” cried Philemon, fear some poor 
traveller is seeking hospitality among our neighbors 
yonder, and, instead of giving him food and lodging, 
they have set their dogs at him, as their custom is ! ” 

‘AVell-a-day ! ” answered old Baucis, I do wish 

* In Greek legend, Baucis {pron. bau'sis) was a Phrygian woman, 
who, with her husband, Philemon (pron. fil-6'mon), showed hospi- 
tality to Zeus (the elder of the “two strangers” in this story) and 
Hermes {pron. her'mez ; the Roman Mercury, here called Quick- 
silver) when every one else had refused them admission. 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


93 


our neighbors felt a little more kindness for their 
fellow-creatures. And only think of bringing up 
their children in this naughty way, and patting 
them on the head when they fling stones at stran- 
gers ! ” 

Those children will never come to any good,” 
said Philemon, shaking his white head. “To tell 
you the truth, wife, I should not wonder if some 
terrible thing were to happen to all the people in 
the village, unless they mend their manners. But, 
as for you and me, as long as Providence affords us 
a crust of bread, let us be ready to give half to any 
poor, homeless stranger, that may come along and 
need it.” 

“ That’s right, husband ! ” said Baucis. “ So we 
will ! ” 

These old folks, you must know, were quite poor, 
and had to work pretty hard for a living. Old 
Philemon toiled diligently in his garden, while 
Baucis was always busy with her distaff, or making 
a little butter and cheese with their cow’s milk, or 
doing one thing and another about the cottage. 
Their food was seldom anything but bread, milk, 
and vegetables, with sometimes a portion of honey 
from their beehive, and now and then a bunch of 
grapes, that had ripened against the cottage-wall. 
But they were two of the kindest old people in the 


94 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


world, and would cheerfully have gone without 
their dinners, any day, rather than refuse a slice of 
their brown loaf, a cup of new milk, and a spoonful 
of honey, to the weary traveller who might pause 
before their door. They felt as if such guests had 
a sort of holiness, and that they ought, therefore, to 
treat them better and more bountifully than their 
own selves. 

Their cottage stood on a rising ground, at some 
short distance from a village, which lay in a hollow 
valley, that was about half a mile in breadth. This 
valley, in past ages, when the world was new, had 
probably been the bed of a lake. There, fishes had 
glided to and fro in the depths, and water-weeds 
had grown along the margin, and trees and hills had 
seen their reflected images in the broad and peace- 
ful mirror. But, as the waters subsided, men had 
cultivated the soil, and built houses on it, so that 
it was now a fertile spot, and bore no traces of the 
ancient lake, except a very small brook, which me- 
andered through the midst of the village, and sup- 
plied the inhabitants with water. The valley had 
been dry land so long, that oaks had sprung up, and 
grown great and high, and perished with old age, 
and been succeeded by others, as tall and stately as 
the first. Never was there a prettier or more fruit- 
ful valley. The very sight of the plenty around 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


Q5 


them should have made the iuhabitants kind and 
gentle, and ready to show their gratitude to Provi- 
dence by doing good to their fellow-creatures. 

But, we are sorry to say, the people of this lovely 
village were not worthy to dwell in a spot on which 
Heaven had smiled so beneficently. They were a 
very selfish and hard-hearted people, and had no 
pity for the poor, nor sympathy with the homeless. 
They would only have laughed, had anybody told 
them that human beings owe a debt of love to one 
another, because there is no other method of paying 
the debt of love and care which all of us owe to 
Providence. You will hardly believe what 1 am 
going to tell you. These naughty people taught 
their children to be no better than themselves, and 
used to clap their hands, by way of encouragement, 
when they saw the little boys and girls run after 
some poor stranger, shouting at his heels, and pelt- 
ing him with stones. They kept large and fierce 
dogs, and whenever a traveller ventured to show 
himself in the village street, this pack of disagree- 
able curs scampered to meet him, barking, snarling, 
and showing their teeth. Then they would seize 
him by his leg, or by his clothes, just as it hap- 
pened ; and if he were ragged when he came, he 
was generally a pitiable object before he had time 
to run away. This was a very terrible thing to 


96 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


poor travellers, as you may suppose, especially when 
they chanced to be sick, or feeble, or lame, or old. 
Such persons (if they once knew how badly these 
unkind people, and their unkind children and curs, 
were in the habit of behaving) would go miles and 
miles out of their way, rather than try to pass 
through the village again. 

What made the matter seem worse, if possible, 
was that when rich persons came in their chariots, 
or riding on beautiful horses, with their servants in 
rich liveries attending on them, nobody could be 
more civil and obsequious than the inhabitants of 
the village. They would take off their hats, and 
make the humblest bows you ever saw. If the 
children were rude, they were pretty certain to get 
their ears boxed; and as for the dogs, if a single 
cur in the p^ck presumed to yelp, his master in- 
stantly beat him with a club, and tied him up with- 
out any supper. This would have been all very 
well, only it proved that the villagers cared much 
about the money that a stranger had in his pocket, 
and nothing whatever for the human soul, which 
lives equally in the beggar and the prince. 

II. 

So now you can understand why old Philemon 
spoke so sorrowfully, when he heard the shouts of 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


97 


the children and the barking of the dogs, at the 
farther extremity of the village street. There was a 
confused din, which lasted a good while, and seemed 
to pass quite through the breadth of the valley. 

I never heard the dogs so loud ! ” observed the 
good old man. 

Nor the children so rude ! ” answered his good 
old wife. 

They sat shaking their heads, one to another, ^ 
while the noise came nearer and nearer; until, at 
the foot of the little eminence on which their cottage 
stood, they saw two travellers approaching on foot. 
Close behind them came the fierce dogs, snarling at 
their very heels. A little farther oft, ran a crowd 
of children, who sent up shiill cries, and flung stones 
at the two strangers, with all their might. Once or 
twice, the younger of the two men (he was a slender 
and very active figure) turned about and drove back 
the dogs with a staff which he carried in his hand. 
His companion, who was a very tall person, walked 
calmly along, as if disdaining to notice either the 
naughty children, or the pack of curs, whose man- 
ners the children seemed to imitate. 

Both of the travellers were very humbly clad, and 
looked as if they might not have money enough in 
their pockets to pay for a night’s lodging. And 
this, I am afraid, was the reason why the villagers 
7 


98 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


had allowed their children and dogs to treat them 
so rudely. 

“Come, wife,” said Philemon to Baucis, “let us 
go and meet these poor people. No doubt, they feel 
almost too heavy-hearted to climb the hill.” 

“ Go you and meet them,” answered Baucis, “ while 
I make haste within doors, and see whether we can 
get them anything for supper. A comfortable bowl 
of bread and milk would do wonders towards raising 
their spirits.” 

Accordingly, she hastened into the cottage. Phile- 
mon, on his part, went forward, and extended his 
hand with so hospitable an aspect that there was no 
need of saying what nevertheless he did say, in the 
heartiest tone imaginable, — 

“Welcome, strangers ! welcome ! ” 

“ Thank you ! ” replied the younger of the two, in 
a lively kind of way, notwithstanding his weariness 
and trouble. “ This is quite another greeting than 
we have met with yonder in the village. Pray, why 
do you live in such a bad neighborhood ? ” 

“ Ah ! ” observed old Philemon, with a quiet and 
benign smile, “Providence put me here, I hope, 
among other reasons, in order that I may make you 
what amends I can for the inhospitality of my 
neighbors.” 

“Well said, old father!” cried the traveller. 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 99 

laughing ; and, if the truth must be told, my 
companion and myself need some amends. Those 
children (the little rascals !) have bespattered us 
finely with their mud-balls ; and one of the curs has 
torn my cloak, which was ragged enough already. 
But I took him across the muzzle with my staff; 
and I think you may have heard him yelp, even 
thus far off.” 

Philemon was glad to see him in such good 
spirits ; nor, indeed, would you have fancied, by 
the traveller’s look and manner, that he was weary 
with a long day’s journey, besides being disheart- 
ened by rough treatment at the end of it. He was 
dressed in rather an odd way, with a sort of cap on 
his head, the brim of which stuck out over both 
ears. Though it was a summer evening, he wore a 
cloak, which he kept wrapt closely about him, per- 
haps because his undergarments were shabby. Phile- 
mon perceived, too, that he had on a singular pair 
of shoes; but, as it was now growing dusk, and as 
the old man’s eyesight was none the sharpest, he 
could not precisely tell in what the strangeness con- 
sisted. One thing, certainly, seemed queer. The 
traveller was so wonderfully light and active, that 
it appeared as if his feet sometimes rose from the 
ground of their own accord, or could only be kept 
down by an effort. 


100 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


used to be light-footed, in my youth,” said 
Philemon to the traveller. “ But I always found my 
feet grow heavier towards nightfall.” 

There is nothing like a good staff to help one 
along,” answered the stranger ; and I happen to 
have an excellent one, as you see.” 

This staff, in fact, was the oddest-looking staff 
that Philemon had ever beheld. It was made of 
olive-wood, and had something like a little pair of 
wings near the top. Two snakes, carved in the 
wood, were represented as twining themselves about 
the staff, and were so very skilfully executed that 
old Philemon (whose eyes, you know, were getting 
rather dim) almost thought them alive, and that he 
could see them wriggling and twisting. 

“ A curious piece of work, sure enough ! ” said he. 
“ A staff with wings ! It would be an excellent 
kind of stick for a little boy to ride astride of ! ” 

By this time, Philemon and his two guests had 
reached the cottage door. 

Friends,” said the old man, sit down and rest 
yourselves here on this bench. My good wife Baucis 
has gone to see what you can have for supper. We 
are poor folks ; but you shall be welcome to what- 
ever we have in the cupboard.” 

The younger stranger threw himself carelessly on 
the bench, letting his staff fall, as he did so. And 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


101 


here happened something rather marvellous, though 
trifling enough, too. The staff seemed to get up from 
the ground of its own accord, and, spreading its little 
pair of wings, it half hopped, half flew, and leaned 
itself against the wall of the cottage. There it stood 
quite still, except that the snakes continued to 
wriggle. But, in my private opinion, old Philemon’s 
eyesight had been playing him tricks again. 

Before he could ask any questions, the elder stran- 
ger drew his attention from the wonderful staff, by 
speaking to him. 

Was there not,” asked the stranger, in a remark- 
ably deep tone of voice, “a lake, in very ancient times, 
covering the spot where now stands yonder village ? ” 

“Not in my day, friend,” answered Philemon; 
“ and yet I am an old man, as you see. There were 
always the fields and meadows, just as they are now, 
and the old trees, and the little stream murmuring 
through the midst of the valley. My father, nor his 
father before him, ever saw it otherwise, so far as I 
know ; and doubtless it will still be the same, when 
old Philemon shall be gone and forgotten.” 

“That is more than can be safely foretold,” ob- 
served the stranger ; and there was something very 
stern in his deep voice. He shook his head, too, so 
that his dark and heavy curls were shaken with the 
movement. “ Since the inhabitants of yonder vil- 


102 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


lage have forgotten the affections and sympathies of 
their nature, it were better that the lake should be 
rippling over their dwellings again ! ” 

The traveller looked so stern, that Philemon was 
really almost frightened; the more so, that, at his 
frown, the twilight seemed suddenly to grow darker, 
and that, when he shook his head, there was a roll 
as of thunder in the air. 

But, in a moment afterwards, the stranger’s face 
became so kindly and mild, that the old man quite 
forgot his terror. Nevertheless, he could not help 
feeling that this elder traveller must be no ordinary 
personage, although he happened now to be attired 
so humbly and to be journeying on foot. Not that 
Philemon fancied him a prince in disguise, or any 
charactei* of that sort ; but rather some exceedingly 
wise man, who went about the world in this poor 
garb, despising wealth and all worldly objects, and 
seeking everywhere to add a mite to his wisdom. 
This idea appeared the more probable, because, when 
Philemon raised his eyes to the stranger’s face, he 
seemed to see more thought there, in one look, than 
he could have studied out in a lifetime. 

III. 

While Baucis was getting the supper, the travel- 
lers both began to talk very sociably with Philemon. 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 103 

The younger, indeed, was extremely loquacious, and 
made such shrewd and witty remarks, that the good 
old man continually burst out a-laughing, and pro- 
nounced him the merriest fellow whom he had seen 
for many a day. 

Pray, my young friend,” said he, as they grew 
familiar together, “ what may I call your name ? ” 
Why, I am very nimble, as you see,” answered 
the traveller. “ So, if you call me Quicksilver, the 
name will fit tolerably well.” 

“Quicksilver? Quicksilver?” repeated Philemon, 
looking in the traveller’s face, to see if he were 
making fun of him. “ It is a very odd name ! 
And your companion there ? Has he as strange a 
one ? ” 

“You must ask the thunder to tell it you !” re- 
plied Quicksilver, putting on a mysterious look. 
“No other voice is loud enough.” 

This remark, whether it were serious or in jest, 
might have caused Philemon to conceive a very 
great awe of the elder stranger, if, on venturing to 
gaze at him, he had not beheld so much beneficence 
in his visage. But, undoubtedly, here was the grand, 
est figure that ever sat so humbly beside a cottage 
door. When the stranger conversed, it was with 
gravity, and in such a way that Philemon felt ir- 
resistibly moved to tell him everything which he 


104 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


had most at heart. This is always the feeling that 
people have, when they meet with any one wise 
enough to comprehend all their good and evil, and 
to despise not a tittle of it. 

But Philemon, simple and kind-hearted old man 
that he was, had not many secrets to disclose. He 
talked, however, quite garrulously, about the events 
of his past life, in the whole course of which he had 
never been a score of miles from this very spot. 
His wife Baucis and himself had dwelt in the cot- 
tage from their youth upward, earning their bread 
by honest labor, always poor, but still contented. 
He told what excellent butter and cheese Baucis 
made, and how nice were the vegetables which he 
raised in his garden. He said, too, that, because 
they loved one another so very much, it was the 
wish of both that death might not separate them, 
but they should die, as they had lived, together. 

As the stranger listened, a smile beamed over his 
countenance, and made its expression as sweet as it 
was grand. 

You are a good old man,” said he to Philemon, 
and you have a good old wife to be your helpmeet. 
It is fit that your wish be granted.” 

And it seemed to Philemon, just then, as if the 
sunset clouds tlire^v up a bright flash from the west, 
and kindled a sudden light in the sky. 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


105 


Baucis had now got supper ready, and, coming to 
the door, began to make apologies for the poor fare 
which she was forced to set before her guests. 

“ Had we known you were coming,” said she, “ my 
good man and myself would have gone without a 
morsel, rather than you should lack a better supper. 
But I took the most part of to-day’s milk to make 
cheese ; and our last loaf is already half eaten. Ah 
me ! I never feel the sorrow of being poor, save when 
a poor traveller knocks at our door.” 

“All will be very well; do not trouble yourself, 
my good dame,” replied the elder stranger kindly, 
“ An honest, hearty welcome to a guest works mira- 
cles with the fare, and is capable of turning the 
coarsest food to nectar and ambrosia.” 

“ A welcome you shall have,” cried Baucis, “ and 
likewise a little hon-ey that we happen to have left, 
and a bunch of purple grapes besides.” 

“ Why, Mother Baucis, it is a feast ! ” exclaimed 
Quicksilver, laughing, “ an absolute feast ! and you 
shall see how bravely I will play my part at it ! I 
think I never felt hungrier in my life.” 

“ Mercy on us ! ” whispered Baucis to her hus- 
band. “ If the young man has such a terrible appe- 
tite, I am afraid there will not be half enough 
supper ! ” 

They all went into the cottage. 


106 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


And now, my little auditors, shall I tell you some- 
thing that will make you open your eyes very wide? 
It is really one of the oddest circumstances in the 
whole story. Quicksilver’s staff, you recollect, had 
set itself up against the wall of the cottage. Well ; 
when its master entered the door, leaving this won- 
derful staff behind, what should it do but immedi- 
ately spread its little wings, and go hopping and 
fluttering up the door steps ! Tap, tap, went the 
staff, on the kitchen floor ; nor did it rest until it 
had stood itself on end, with the greatest gravity 
and decorum, beside Quicksilver’s chair. Old Phile- 
mon, however, as well as his wife, was so taken up 
in attending to their guests, that no notice was given 
to what the staff had been about. 

As Baucis had said, there was but a scanty supper 
for two hungry travellers. In the middle of the table 
was the remnant of a brown loaf, with a piece of 
cheese on one side of it, and a dish of honeycomb on 
the other. There was a pretty good bunch of grapes 
for each of the guests. A moderately sized earthen 
pitcher, nearly full of milk, stood at a corner of the 
board ; and when Baucis had filled two bowls, and 
set them before the strangers, only a little milk re- 
mained in the bottom of the pitcher. Alas ! it is a 
very sad business, when a bountiful heart finds itself 
pinched and squeezed among narrow circumstances. 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


107 


Poor Baucis kept wishing that she might starve for 
a week to come, if it were possible, by so doing, to 
provide these hungry folks a more plentiful supper. 

And, since the supper was so exceedingly small, 
she could not help wishing that their appetites had 
not been quite so large. Why, at their very first 
sitting down, the travellers both drank off all the 
milk in their two bowls, at a draught. 

“A little more milk, kind Mother Baucis, if you 
please,” said Quicksilver. “ The day has been hot, 
and I am very much athirst.” 

“Now, my dear people,” answered Baucis, in 
great confusion, “ I am so sorry and ashamed ! But 
the truth is, there is hardly a drop more milk in the 
pitcher. O husband ! husband ! why didn’t we go 
without our supper ? ” 

“ Why, it appears- to me,” cried Quicksilver, start- 
ing up from table and taking the pitcher by the 
handle, “ it really appears to me that matters are not 
quite so bad as you represent them. Here is cer- 
tainly more milk in the pitcher.” 

So saying, and to the vast astonishment of Baucis, 
he proceeded to fill, not only his own bowl, but his 
companion’s likewise, from the pitcher, that was 
supposed to be almost empty. The good woman 
could scarcely believe her eyes. She had certainly 
poured out nearly all the milk, and had peeped in 


108 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


afterwards, and seen the bottom of the pitcher, as 
she set it down upon the table. 

“ But I am old,’^ thought Baucis to herself, “ and 
apt to be forgetful. I suppose I must have made a 
mistake. At all events, the pitcher cannot help 
being empty now, after tilling the bowls twice over.” 

“What excellent milk!” observed Quicksilver, 
after quaffing the contents of the second bowl. 
“ Excuse me, my kind hostess, but I must really ask 
you for a little more.” 

Now Baucis had seen, as plainly as she could see 
anything, that Quicksilver had turned the pitcher 
upside down, and consequently had poured out 
every drop of milk, in tilling the last bowl. Of 
course, there could not possibly be any left. How- 
ever, in order to let him know precisely how the 
case was, she lifted the pitcher, and made a gesture 
as if pouring milk into Quicksilver’s bowl, but with- 
out the remotest idea that any milk would stream 
forth. What was her surprise, therefore, when such 
an abundant cascade fell bubbling into the bowl, 
that it was immediately filled to the brim, and over- 
fiowed upon the table ! The two snakes that were 
twisted about Quicksilver’s staff (but neither Baucis 
nor Philemon happened to observe this circum- 
stance) stretched out their heads, and began to lap 
up the spilt milk. 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


109 


And tlien what a delicious fragrance the milk 
had ! It seemed as if Philemon’s only cow must 
have pastured, that day, on the richest herbage that 
could be found anywhere in the world. I only wish 
that each of you, my beloved little souls, could have 
a bowl of such nice milk, at supper-time ! 

“And now a slice of your brown loaf. Mother 
Baucis,” said Quicksilver, “ and a little of that 
honey ! ” 

Baucis cut him a slice, accordingly ; and though 
the loaf, when she and her husband ate of it, had 
been rather too dry and crusty to be palatable, it 
was now as light and moist as if but a few hours 
out of the oven. Tasting a crumb, which had 
fallen on the table, she found it more delicious than 
bread ever was before, and could hardly believe 
that it was a loaf of her own kneading and baking. 
Yet, what other loaf could it possibly be? 

But, oh the honey! I may just as well let it 
alone, without trying to describe how exquisitely it 
smelt and looked. Its color was that of the purest 
and most transparent gold ; and it had the odor of 
a thousand flowers; but of such flowers as never 
grew in an earthly garden, and to seek which the 
bees must have flown high above the clouds. The 
wonder is, that, after alighting on a flower-bed of so 
delicious fragrance and immortal bloom, they should 


110 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


have been content to fly down again to their hive in 
Philemon’s garden. Never was such honey tasted, 
seen, or smelt. The perfume floated around the 
kitchen, and made it so delightful, that, had you 
closed your eyes, you would instantly have forgot- 
ten the low ceiling and smoky walls, and have 
fancied yourself in an arbor, with celestial honey- 
suckles creeping over it. 


IV. 

Although good Mother Baucis was a simple old 
dame, she could not but think that there was some- 
thing rather out of the common way, in all that had 
been going on. So, after helping the guests to bread 
and honey, and laying a bunch of grapes by each of 
their plates, she sat down by Philemon, and told 
him what she had seen, in a whisper. 

Did you ever hear the like ? ” asked she. 

“No, I never did,” answered Philemon, with a 
smile. “ And I rather think, my dear old wife, you 
have been walking about in a sort of a dream. If I 
had poured out the milk, I should have seen through 
the business at once. There happened to be a little 
more in the pitcher than you thought, — that is all.” 

“ Ah, husband,” said Baucis, “ say what you will, 
these are very uncommon people.” 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


Ill 


“ W ell, well,” replied Philemon, still smiling, 
“ perhaps they are. They certainly do look as if 
they had seen better days ; and I am heartily glad 
to see them making so comfortable a supper.” 

Each of the guests had now taken his bunch of 
grapes upon his plate. Baucis (who rubbed her 
eyes, in order to see the more clearly) was of opinion 
that the clusters had grown larger and richer, and 
that each separate grape seemed to be on the point 
of bursting with ripe juice. It was entirely a mys- 
tery to her how such grapes could ever have been 
produced from the old stunted vine that climbed 
against the cottage wall. 

“ Y ery admirable grapes these ! ” observed Quick- 
silver, as he swallowed one after another, without 
apparently diminishing his cluster. “ PPRy, uiy 
good host, whence did you gather them ? ” 

“ From my own vine,” answered Philemon. “ You 
may see one of its branches twisting across the win- 
dow, yonder. But wife and I never thought the 
grapes very fine ones.” 

I never tasted better,” said the guest. “ An- 
other cup of this delicious milk, if you please, and 
I shall then have supped better than a prince.” 

This time, old Philemon bestirred himself, and 
took up the pitcher ; for he was curious to discover 
whether there was any reality in the marvels which 


112 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


Baucis had whispered to him. He knew that his 
good old wife was incapable of falsehood, and that 
she was seldom mistaken in what she supposed to 
be true ] but this was so very singular a case, that 
he wanted to see into it with his own eyes. On 
taking up the pitcher, therefore, he slyly peeped 
into it, and was fully satisfied that it contained not 
so much as a single drop. All at once, however, he 
beheld a little white fountain, which gushed up 
from the bottom of the pitcher, and speedily filled 
it to the brim with foaming and deliciously fragrant 
milk. It was lucky that Philemon, in his surprise, 
did not drop the miraculous pitcher from his hand. 

“Who are ye, wonder-working strangers ! ” cried 
he, even more bewildered than his wife had been. 

“ Your guests, my good Philemon, and your 
friends,” replied the elder traveller, in his mild, 
deep voice, that had something at once sweet and 
awe-inspiring in it. “ Give me likewise a cup of 
the milk ; and may your pitcher never be empty for 
kind Baucis and yourself, any more than for the 
needy wayfarer ! ” 

The supper being now over, the strangers re- 
quested to be shown to their place of repose. The 
old people would gladly have talked to them a 
little longer, and have expressed the wonder which 
they felt, and their delight at finding the poor and 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


113 


meagre supper prove so much better and more 
abundant than they hoped. But the elder traveller 
had inspired them with such reverence, that they 
dared not ask him any questions. And when 
Philemon drew Quicksilver aside, and inquired how 
under the sun a fountain of milk could have got 
into an old earthen pitcher, this latter personage 
pointed to his stalf. 

There is the whole mystery of the affair,” quoth 
Quicksilver ; “ and if you can make it out, I’ll thank 
you to let me know. I can’t tell what to make of 
my staff. It is always playing such odd tricks as 
this ; sometimes getting me a supper, and, quite as 
often, stealing it away. If I had any faith in such 
nonsense, I should say the stick was bewitched ! ” 

He said no more, but looked so slyly in their 
faces, that they rather fancied he was laughing at 
them. The magic staff went hopping at his heels, 
as Quicksilver quitted the room. When left alone, 
the good old couple spent some little time in con- 
versation about the events of the evening, and then 
lay down on the floor, and fell fast asleep. They 
had given up their sleeping-room to the guests, and 
had no other bed for themselves, save these planks, 
which I wish had been as soft as their own hearts. 

The old man and his wife were stirring, betimes, 
in the morning, and the strangers likewise arose 
8 


114 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


with the sun, and made their preparations to depart. 
Philemon hospitably entreated them to remain a 
little longer, until Baucis could milk the cow, and 
bake a cake upon the hearth, and, perhaps, find them 
a few fresh eggs, for breakfast. The guests, how- 
ever, seemed to think it better to accomplish a good 
part of their journey before the heat of the day 
should come on. They, therefore, persisted in set- 
ting out immediately, but asked Philemon and 
Baucis to walk forth with them a short distance, 
and show them the road which they were to take. 

So they all four issued from the cottage, chatting 
together like old friends. It was very remarkable, 
indeed, how familiar the old couple insensibly grew 
with the elder traveller, and how their good and 
simple spirits melted into his, even as two drops of 
water would melt into the illimitable ocean. And 
as for Quicksilver, with his keen, quick, laughing 
wits, he appeared to discover every little thought 
that but peeped into their minds, before they sus- 
pected it themselves. They sometimes wished, it is 
true, that he had not been quite so quick-witted, 
and also that he would fling away his staff, which 
looked so mysteriously mischievous, with the snakes 
always writhing about it. But then, again. Quick- 
silver showed himself so very good-humored, that 
they would have been rejoiced to keep him in their 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


115 


cottage, staff, snakes, and all, every day, and the 
whole day long. 

“Ah me! Well-a-day 1 ” exclaimed Philemon, 
when they had walked a little way from their door. 
“ If our neighbors only knew what a blessed thing 
it is to show hospitality to strangers, they would 
tie up all their dogs, and never allow their children 
to fling another stone.” 

“It is a sin and shame for them to behave so, 
— that it is ! ” cried good old Baucis, vehemently. 
“ And I mean to go this very day, and tell some of 
them what naughty people they are ! ” 

“ I fear,” remarked Quicksilver, slyly smiling, 
“ that you will find none of them at home.” 

The elder traveller’s brow, just then, assumed 
such a grave, stern, and awful grandeur, yet serene 
withal, that neither Baucis nor Philemon dared to 
speak a word. They gazed reverently into his face, 
as if they had been gazing at the sky. 

“When men do not feel towards the humblest 
stranger as if he were a brother,” said the traveller, 
in tones so deep that they sounded like those of an 
organ, “ they are unworthy to exist on earth, which 
was created as the abode of a great human brother- 
hood!” 

“And, by the by, my dear old people,” cried 
Quicksilver, with the liveliest look of fun and mis- 


116 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


chief in his eyes, “where is this same village that 
you talk about ? On which side of us does it lie ? 
Methinks I do not see it hereabouts.” 

V. 

Philemon and his wife turned towards the valley, 
where, at sunset, only the day before, they had seen 
the meadows, the houses, the gardens, the clumps of 
trees, the wide, green-margined street, with children 
playing in it, and all the tokens of business, enjoy- 
ment, and prosperity. But what was their astonish- 
ment ! There was no longer any appearance of a 
village ! Even the fertile vale, in the hollow of 
which it lay, had ceased to have existence. In its 
stead, they beheld the broad, blue surface of a lake, 
which filled the great basin of the valley from brim 
to brim, and reflected the surrounding hills in its 
bosom with as tranquil an image as if it had been 
there ever since the creation of the world. For an 
instant, the lake remained perfectly smooth. Then, 
a little breeze sprang up, and caused the water to 
dance, glitter, and sparkle in the early sunbeams, 
and to dash, with a pleasant rippling murmur, 
against the hither shore. 

The lake seemed so strangely familiar, that the 
old couple were greatly perplexed, and felt as if 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


117 


they could only have been dreaming about a village 
having lain there. But, the next moment, they 
remembered the vanished dwellings, and the faces 
and characters of the inhabitants, far too distinctly 
for a dream. The village had been there yesterday, 
and now was gone ! 

Alas ! ” cried these kind-hearted old people, 
^‘what has become of our poor neighbors?” 

They exist no longer as men and women,” said 
the elder traveller, in his grand and deep voice, 
while a roll of thunder seemed to echo it at a dis- 
tance. There was neither use nor beauty in such a 
life as theirs ; for they never softened or sweetened 
the hard lot of mortality by the exercise of kindly 
affections between man and man. They retained no 
image of the better life in their bosoms ; therefore, 
the lake, that was of old, has spread itself forth 
again, to reflect the sky ! ” 

And as for those foolish people,” said Quicksil- 
ver, with his mischievous smile, “ they are all trans- 
formed to Ashes, There needed but little change, 
for they were already a scaly set of rascals, and 
the coldest-blooded beings in existence. So, kind 
Mother Baucis, whenever you or your husband have 
an appetite for a dish of broiled trout, he can throw 
in a line, and pull out half a dozen of your old 
neighbors ! ” 


118 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


“ Ah,” cried Baucis, shuddering, “ I would not, for 
the world, put one of them on the gridiron ! ” 

“ No,” added Philemon, making a wry face, we 
could never relish them ! ” 

As for you, good Philemon,” continued the elder 
traveller, — ‘^and you, kind Baucis, — you, with your 
scanty means, have mingled so much heartfelt hos- 
pitality with your entertainment of the homeless 
stranger, that the milk became an inexhaustible 
fount of nectar, and the brown loaf and the honey 
were ambrosia. Thus, the divinities have feasted, 
at your board, off the same viands that supply their 
banquets on Olympus. You have done well, my 
dear old friends. Wherefore, request whatever 
favor you have most at heart, and it is granted.” 

Philemon and Baucis looked at one another, and 
then, — I know not which of the two it was who spoke, 
but that one uttered the desire of both their hearts. 

“Let us live together, while we live, and leave 
the world at the same instant, when we die ! For 
we have always loved one another ! ” 

“ Be it so ! ” replied the stranger, with majestic 
kindness. “ Now, look towards your cottage ! ” 

They did so. But what was their surprise on 
beholding a tall edifice of white marble, with a 
wide-open portal, occupying the spot where their 
humble residence had so lately stood ! 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


119 


There is your home,” said the stranger, benefi- 
cently smiling on them both. “ Exercise your hos- 
pitality in yonder palace as freely as in the poor 
hovel to which you welcomed us last evening.” 

The old folks fell on their knees to thank him ; 
but, behold ! neither he nor Quicksilver was there. 

So Philemon and Baucis took up their residence 
in the marble palace, and spent their time, with vast 
satisfaction to themselves, in making everybody jolly 
and comfortable who happened to pass that way. 
The milk-pitcher, I must not forget to say, retained 
its marvellous quality of being never empty, when 
it was desirable to have it full. Whenever an hon- 
est, good-humored, and free-hearted guest took a 
draught from this pitcher, he invariably found it 
the sweetest and most invigorating fluid that ever 
ran down his throat. But, if a cross and disagree- 
able curmudgeon happened to sip, he was pretty 
certain to twist his visage into a hard knot, and 
pronounce it a pitcher of sour milk ! 

Thus the old couple lived in their palace a great, 
great while, and grew older and older, and very old 
indeed. At length, however, there came a summer 
morning when Philemon and Baucis failed to make 
their appearance, as on other mornings, with one 
hospitable smile overspreading both their pleasant 
faces, to invite the guests of over-night to breakfast. 


120 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


The guests searched everywhere, from top to bottom 
of the spacious palace, and all to no purpose. But, 
after a great deal of perplexity, they espied, in front 
of the portal, two venerable trees, which nobody 
could remember to have seen there the day before. 
Yet there they stood, with their roots fastened deep 
into the soil, and a huge breadth of foliage over- 
shadowing the whole front of the edifice. One was 
an oak, and the other a linden-tree. Their boughs 
— it was strange and beautiful to see — were inter- 
twined together, and embraced one another, so that 
each tree seemed to live in the other tree’s bosom 
much more than in its own. 

While the guests were marvelling how these 
trees, that must have required at least a century to 
grow, could have come to be so tall and venerable 
in a single night, a breeze sprang up, and .set their 
intermingled boughs astir. And then there was a 
deep, broad murmur in the air, as if the two myste- 
rious trees were speaking. 

I am old Philemon ! ” murmured the oak. 

“ I am old Baucis ! ” murmured the linden-tree. 

But, as the breeze grew stronger, the trees both 
spoke at once, — Philemon ! Baucis ! Baucis ! Phile- 
mon ! ” — as if one were both and both were one, 
and talking together in the depths of their mutual 
heart. It was plain enough to perceive that the 


THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 


121 


good old couple had renewed their age, and were 
now to spend a quiet and delightful hundred years 
or so, Philemon as an oak, and Baucis as a linden- 
tree. And oh, what a hospitable shade did they 
fling around them ! Whenever a wayfarer paused 
beneath it, he heard a pleasant whisper of the leaves 
above his head, and wondered how the sound should 
so much resemble words like these : — 

“ Welcome, welcome, dear traveller, welcome ! ” 
And some kind soul, that knew what would have 
pleased old Baucis and old Philemon best, built a 
circular seat around both their trunks, where, for a 
great while afterwards, the weary, and the hungry, 
and the thirsty used to repose themselves, and quaff 
milk abundantly out of the miraculous pitcher. 

And I wish, for all our sakes, that we had the 
pitcher here now ! 


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